Queen's Gambit Accepted
by fahRENheit2006
Summary: Specialist Samantha Traynor, one of the Alliance's best and brightest, was relatively content working in Alliance R&D. But then... the Reapers came. Full of action, profanity, sarcasm, friendship, and gripping chess matches that will leave you breathless. Ch 19: Sam is still reeling from an injured Shepard on Tuchanka. But manages to talk to Liara and still pay Shepard a visit.
1. A Job Worth Doing

**Ren's Longwinded Opening Note:  
**_The Queen's Gambit: One of the oldest known chess opening moves, often used by grandmasters. Can be played either as Accepted or Denied, depending on the opponent's strategy. _

_I was surprised at how much I liked the quippy, geeky comms specialist. Despite her inexperience working on an active warship, Traynor's forward behavior towards Shepard tells me she'd be a cool, confident woman outside of galaxy-wide genocide. Especially in her personal life. __While I don't have working knowledge of communication, engineering, or the military, I did my best to at least give Sam and crew the dignity of intelligent dialogue._

_All Mass Effect characters, missions, and canon dialogue property of Bioware and their respective copyrights. I do not profit from this story in any way, it's just for fun._

_Cover art designed by Fishbone76 and used with her permission. Please check out her deviantart gallery for more beautiful scenes from this story (there's a link to it in my profile)._

_Thanks to reviewers Lyaksandra, AndrogyMous and FloridaMagpie for catching a few lore inconsistencies in this story. I have corrected them, and greatly appreciate learnings like that to make the story better. Also thanks to themikefest on the BSN for his comprehensive listing of Traynor videos, and YouTube users FluffyNinjaLlama and Revan657 for recording any Traynor scene I could ever need. This story would probably suck without all you guys' effort, so thanks!_

_I have also written a prologue of sorts for this fic explaining how Sam got on retrofit duty in the first place called "Pawn to d4."_

* * *

Isabella sniffed disdainfully as she studied her reflection in the mirror. There was a small smudge of lipstick on her expensive white dress shirt collar. Running a washcloth under the faucet, she attempted to dab lightly (never blot!) at the stain. She glared through the mirror to the lipstick's owner who was still in bed.

"Must you be so... so..."

"Affectionate? Amazing? Fashionable?" Samantha Traynor supplied as she rolled over. She was already well aware of Isabella's uppity attitude the moment the woman had gotten out of bed. Samantha had even been placing a betting pool with herself on what tiny insignificant quirk would set Izzy off.

_Six to one odds on the dirty towels. Four to one on my brand of toothpaste. Two to one on my Alliance housing and how much she hates it. _

"Sloppy! I told you last night I had an early morning."

_Damn. Don't think there was a bet in on marring her perfect outfit. No winners today. Better luck next time, Sam. _

"You told me a lot of things last night. The first was that you didn't think this was working, the second was that you missed me and to kiss you and never stop," Samantha reminded the fretting woman. She glanced back at the alarm clock holo. 0742 EST, 48 minutes before Traynor was due at the Alliance dock for work. _Damn this early schedule. I miss my flexible hours in R&D._

Isabella continued to sigh unhappily at her reflection. The petite woman's face, which had been so pretty and pale under the dim light of the restaurant overlooking Vancouver Harbor, seemed almost ugly now. Her make-up was a little too imperfect, her brown eyes a little too red from lack of sleep, her golden brown hair a little too unmanageable from her hurried morning. "You should have woken me sooner, Sam."

_Oh, no you don't. You don't get to turn this around on me._ "I set the alarm. I woke you when it went off for the third time. You're all grown up and running a company, Izzy. Big girls don't cry."

"And you should quit this Alliance shoestring R&D and come work with me at Eldfell-Ashland. Cut your teeth on some algorithms with credits behind them." Isabella's fingertips swept over her lower eyelids, desperate to smooth away errant eye make-up before shooting Sam a haughty glare. Her Omni-tool bracelet chirped for the eighth time, probably another update to her already full schedule. "I get tired of proposing the same thing every time we're together. Promise me you'll actually think about it this time."

_And time! Twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds before Isabella makes a comment that I'm wasting my talent. She must be losing her touch. Or mine is improving. Maybe the night before mellowed her out more than usual._

Sam hated this conversation topic. She brushed it off like she always did. "Proposing? So soon? You old softie. I was thinking a fall wedding. Two kids. Maybe a dog?" Sarcasm dripped from her light, airy voice.

Isabella rolled her eyes. "If you can't be serious, then just forget it." Her well-manicured hand reached down for a gleaming toothbrush in a charger cradle.

Sitting up in bed, Sam tsked in annoyance. "Like hell you're using my Cision Pro Mark-4 when you just unproposed to me, Izzy. If you're not going to make an honest woman of me, your minions at Eld-Ash will just have to suffer your morning breath."

Muttering something about looking in her purse for mints, Isabella gathered up her things and did a mental calculation about the odds of her making it home in time for a change of clothes. Not another Walk of Shame. Irritation building, Izzy snapped one last time as she headed for the door. "I'm late. When you decide to stop wasting your life as an Alliance lapdog and feel like doing some work that matters, give me a call. I'd hate to see you in ten years still stringing tin cans together on some dead end rock in the Terminus.

"You're better than this, Sam," Isabella added thoughtfully, softening her rebuke some. Samantha asked her if she was going to call later. Izzy evaded like she always did, mumbling something noncommittal before darting out the sliding doors. Sam could hear the faint, muffled chirp of Izzy's Omni-tool down the hall. Another schedule update for the Chief Communications Officer of Eldfell-Ashland Energy LLC.

_Bloody hell. That confounding woman only wants a connection when it's convenient for her, never for me. I don't know why I always answer. If I'm better than anything, I'm better than people like her. _

Sliding out of bed, Sam flicked the control panel to get hot water going which, in Alliance housing, could take awhile. Even though she was only in boot for a little while, she still had the anal retentive routine of a trained soldier. Set clothes aside, arrange make-up tools (which were pretty minimal at this point: eye liner, lip gloss, and light foundation. _No one to look nice for anyway._), unwrap her ready-to-eat breakfast, and start warming a mug of water for hot tea.

Samantha fired up her Omni-tool to work the vid screen on the wall while brushing her teeth. The Alliance News Network was broadcasting pretty standard fare: economic turmoil in Africa, riots in China, and speculation on the Pan-Olympic games this summer in Reykjavik. Sam sighed after sticking her fingertips into the still-cool running water. _Stupid Izzy, stealing all the hot water._

The dull vibration of the small mass effect fields on her toothbrush did wonders to calm the irritation from Isabella's departure at least. Shifting her attention back to the vids, local news had one topic and one topic only: the military trial of Commander Annelise Shepard.

Older holos of Shepard showed a fiery redhead with sharp green eyes leading the charge against Saren Arterius and his geth on the Citadel. But this Newer Shepard was almost a shadow of that other woman. She was no long fiery. The green eyes were still sharp, but mostly tired and resigned. Before, Shepard had shouted to any reporter who would listen about the Reapers coming and the sky falling. The more sensationalist channels latched on to Shepard's fire-and-brimstone predictions, but the ANN dismissed her claims.

After news that the Commander had destroyed a mass relay, killed hundreds of thousands of batarians and set humanity on the brink of war, she disappeared from the media. Locked down at Alliance headquarters, a perky Emily Wong speculated on what punishment awaited Shepard as news from the batarian Hegemony had gone dark in the last few months. There were worries they were mobilizing for war. Wong's report cycled through the confirmed rumors of the day, as well as opinion pieces from various colony and Earth citizens on what they thought of the Commander.

Samantha rolled her eyes as some of the backwoods colony interviewees accused Shepard of being a meddlesome pawn using Reapers as an excuse to stick Alliance bodies and funds into their business. _Sharp. Real sharp. Way to make us colonists look good there, buddy. We'll be discovering the wheel and making fire any day now, just you wait._

Only palms and "No comment" could be spotted amongst Wong's Alliance government interviews. The reporter claimed that an unidentified source found Shepard's information on Cerberus useful and her Reaper fears credible, as well as requesting for vigilance from all humans. Sam laughed at a few soundbytes praising Shepard's actions as well as her ass, though she suspected the sources didn't have firsthand knowledge of either.

Suddenly an alarm chimed over the vid screen indicating Sam's train to the military base would be arriving in 25 minutes. An email alert also popped up in the corner. She recognized Isabella's email address.

* * *

_S—_

_Sorry I'm such a grouch. Can I make it up to you? Dinner tonight? A real date this time? I promise to behave if you promise to wear that black dress._

…_Who am I kidding, we both know I can't behave around that dress._

—_Izzy_

* * *

Rather than getting excited, Sam just sighed as she hopped into the acceptably warm shower. She spent those seven minutes of peace arguing with herself on whether to take Isabella up on her offer.

_What the hell are you doing, Sam? Do you really want a repeat of this morning? Six to one odds she lays into you about the Alliance **during** dinner. Four to one she avoids talking about anything at all. ...which is always fun, but dreadful the next morning... Two to one she shows up two hours late smelling like someone else, probably her Eld-Ash flavor of the month. ...which means you're her flavor of the month to someone else..._

_Stop it._

Toweling off her dark hair, Samantha scowled as she exited the bathroom. Dressing in her simple blue civilian Alliance uniform was a matter of methodical snaps and zips, though her toes wiggled free of the light boots until the last possible moment. She took a seat at the low table near the prefab's only window while mentally calculating she had about 18 minutes before she had to scurry out the door to reach the light rail train to the Alliance dock.

Samantha pondered the chess board on the table, running an absent finger along the Lazy Susan. The pink and black stone pieces swayed back and forth before her fidgeting finger, scattered across the grid in tight attack patterns. Despite the fact her mind was processing dozens of scenarios and maneuvers for her hematite brethren to conquer the offending rose quartz army, Isabella drifted back into Sam's thoughts. Quite against her will.

Isabella never wanted to play chess. Didn't even bother to learn. The rose quartz king still defiant against the onslaught of a hematite bishop was a result of many idle nights and weekends against the ferocious opponent known as Samantha Traynor. And those nights that **weren't** idled away on chess were idled away on an absolutely infuriating woman who appreciated silly things like celebrity gossip and low cut blouses.

Before that thought could return to its inevitable, irresistibly sexy origins, Samantha's Omni-tool bracelet chimed with an incoming call. Giving the Lazy Susan a spin to attempt to defend herself from her repositioned hematite knight, she tapped the orange interface to accept the call.

Two cheerful faces popped into the small screen. An older approximation of Samantha was tucking errant strands of long salt and pepper hair behind her ears while the paler older man finished stealing a quick sip from a wine glass.

"Hi there, alpha sprog," Geoffrey Traynor jibed amiably. "How's the homeworld? Rife with manna and honey?"

"Mornin' Dad. And that's alpha **and** omega sprog, unless you've got a brother or sister waiting in the wings that I don't know about after 26 years." She waited a moment for her father to stop nudging her mother suggestively before addressing his original question. "It's raining manna as we speak. I'm lucky I don't get crushed on my walk to the tube from all the glorious promised land delights. How you tolerate colony life when paradise is clearly in Vancouver is beyond me," Samantha dryly retorted while running fingertips through her damp hair.

Priya Suresh-Traynor rolled her eyes at father and daughter. "Knock it off, you two. This call is costing a fortune as it is. How are you doing, princess? What time is it there?"

"Mum," Samantha started in exasperation. "You ask me this question every time you call. I've been here four months, and the time is always the same. I'm about to leave for work. How's Horizon?"

Tsking at her daughter's tone, Priya sighed. "We're still rebuilding. We finally finished the last of the funerals and wakes for the ones we lost. Six months, kid. It took six months for all that. There have been some Alliance reps conducting a census to get a feel for who all is left, though most of the families of the taken have already gone offworld for a fresh start."

Geoffrey chimed in, "I don't know how they expect to get an accurate census with all the coming and going. The northern section of the colony is still partly cordoned off from researchers picking up those bug… things… and they turned the medical district into a research lab to examine the Collectors that Commander Shepard killed."

"Have you met her yet? Commander Shepard?" There was intrigued awe in Samantha's mother's voice. "You did say you were working on her ship, right?"

"Mum," Samantha tried to keep her irritation to a minimum. "I've never even **seen** her in person. She's under lock and key at Alliance HQ. I'm at the dock. We don't exactly mingle around the water cooler. I don't even think the Normandy is considered her ship anymore since it's been impounded. All our retrofits have a new commanding officer listed."

Priya frowned with a disappointed "Oh…" while Geoffrey patted his wife's shoulder with encouragement. "Now now, my little lotus flower. I'm sure we'll get some grand kids out of little Sammy yet. Even if they aren't the Hero of the Citadel's." He winked at Samantha playfully, though she could only squawk out an awkward "Dad!"

It took considerable willpower to resist the urge to slap a palm to her forehead.

_What in the bloody hell is going on? First Izzy is harping on me about my future, now my parents are fishing for fictitious grandchildren? With Commander bloody Shepard to boot? Whatever I did to deserve this, God, I hope I at least had fun doing it. Because this is just... just..._

"I really should be_—_" Samantha started before her mother interrupted. "Samantha. We're your parents. We love you. We just want to make sure you're happy. And settled down at some point. Not right this minute... when you're ready, of course. I just hope you're doing something with your life that matters to you."

The thoughtful concern in her mother's voice tangled up Sam's tongue in a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. She found herself tucking her hair behind her ears nervously, exactly the way Priya had done earlier. "I—thank you, mum. I'm fine. I'm doing work I enjoy and I help people. I get to travel on the Alliance's dime. And I still make a mean cup of tea. I'm just fine."

Geoffrey, oblivious to the cryptically tender mother-daughter moment, interrupted. "Hey, kid? We just lost four of our database feeds from the Terminus. And we're getting reports Alliance-issue QEC is down in Exodus and Horse Head. Did your people run a stress-test and crash the damn network again? You know us backwoods yokels piggyback on your comms for boring things like day-to-day life and infrastructure, yea?"

Sam flipped through her Omni-tool messages, which confirmed the blackout, but there were no warning messages about planned downtime. Assuming it was just some lazy tech who spilled a drink on their console, Samantha promised her dad she'd follow up on the comm outage when she got to the Alliance dock in… _oh shit! Is that the time? I'm going to miss my train!_

Hurrying her goodbyes, she signed off and quickly started gathering her things. Against her better judgment, Samantha tucked her favorite black dress into a small duffle, along with some overnight essentials. Her hand hesitated over her toothbrush, but in the end she decided to leave it safe and sound at home. _Next time, ol' sport. Next time._

She took one last moment to slide a rose quartz bishop onto a black tile, 45 degrees from the hematite king. _Check_. Grinning smugly, Sam ran out her prefab door with a slide of a keycard. A helpful hand of an elderly man held the apartment elevator just long enough for her to dart into the car. Twelve floors later, they were both deposited at the ground where Samantha made a beeline down the busy street to the train station.

The last call sounded just as she huffed up the top step, though the sliding doors snagged a souvenir pin from the Eden Prime Observatory off her overnight bag in their eagerness to keep the train on schedule. A morning talk show blared from the small viewing screens tucked in the corners of the cars, background noise for the sleepy commuters to try and wake themselves up before yet another long day at work.

Resting her forehead against a cool metal support bar, Samantha let the rhythmic sway of the light rail settle her thoughts. She tapped her Omni-tool to re-read Isabella's date proposal. And sighed.

_Dammit, mum, why do you have to be so prying but so supportive? It's quite the brilliant move from the Mom Playbook. It's not like I can admit I'm shagging a detached mining executive who has an aneurysm when I so much as plan a date a day in advance. I just… I don't know why I put up with Izzy. She certainly isn't what mum had in mind for settling down. She's completely infuriating and yet I still go back. _

_Because I'm lonely in this stupid city. _

_...Stop talking to yourself, Traynor. Have you gone barking mad already?_

Vancouver Harbor whizzed by the train window, a sparkling morning sun glinting in its waters. Ship traffic seemed especially heavy the closer the train got to the military base. _Strange_. Several stops along the harbor dropped off medical personnel at the hospital, mechanics at one of the land vehicle hangars, and decorated officers at the command post. Samantha couldn't resist appraising a particularly attractive brunette in navy and gold before returning her wandering eyes to the glowing holo map. _Next stop._

The doors swished open to a busy security screening station. Sam was surprised at how jammed the security line was at this time of morning; most ships on active duty were already gone by 0730, leaving the engineers and specialists a leisurely arrival free of military troops. But today was oddly different and she wanted to know why.

Samantha tried to strike up a friendly conversation with a few male troopers in front of her, but they were sullen and quiet. One answered with a surly, "That's classified, Specialist." Another wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and asked her what she was doing later. "That's classified, soldier," Sam returned playfully.

Abandoning all hope of making it to work on time, Sam slogged through 20 minutes of security scans before she could hop on to her freight elevator to the G-13 dock. Unlike the rest of the Alliance dock, the G terminal was exclusively for impounded ships and therefore had next to no foot traffic. She had become well-acquainted with the familiar security staff in G terminal, but those friendly faces were ashen and unresponsive to Samantha's hellos. _What in the bloody hell is going on?_

A jet bridge was already extended to a uniquely profiled deep scout frigate. "NORMANDY SR2" in bold lettering along the body of the ship greeted Sam from the window view, as it had for the last four months. Inside, however, was where the comfortable routine went to hell.

"Logged: Specialist Traynor is aboard," the Normandy's virtual intelligence, EDI, chimed above Sam's head. _Another thing I miss about R&D: no VI punch card telling everyone I'm late_, she grumbled inwardly.

The Normandy's Flight Lieutenant, Jeff "Joker" Moreau, rotated in his chair to better shout through the cockpit.

"Somebody's in trouble," he cackled in a singsong way. Joker pulled his blue SR2 cap off his head to scratch his palm against his fiery red hair. His lower lip stuck out in a knowing grin behind his thick beard.

"Already? Do I want to know, or would my time be better spent savoring the suspense?" Sam quipped as she shifted her duffle bag, eager to stow it away before one of the nosier tech specialists saw it.

Joker waved his hat to gesture to the back of the ship. "Your brass replacement is on the horn in the war room about some missed something. Normally I don't care… plus I like watching people get yelled at who aren't me, but she's threatening to lock down my ship. I think it's a new record for her." His nose wrinkled in disgust.

Sighing, Sam jogged through the CIC to drop her duffle into the cramped room next to the elevator. The massive overhaul to strip all signs of Cerberus from the CIC deck had made one of the corridors redundant, so it had become an unofficial junk storage area. Several crates marked "Property of A. Shepard" were stacked haphazardly in the shelves above.

Privates Westmoreland and Campbell were both engrossed in magazines on their datapads and didn't even acknowledge Traynor entering the security curtain. Sam rued the day that bloody thing was finally installed, because she had to pass through it about 30 times a day to get at all the comm hardware in the war room. And there was no bypass or skipping the line, either.

"EDI, what's going on?" Samantha asked the ceiling as she strolled through the conference room.

"You have an urgent message from Staff Lieutenant Ventura."

_Everything is an urgent message to that shrew_, Sam mused. Aloud, she asked what the message was regarding.

"The Staff Lieutenant has expressed displeasure that the cargo bay and CIC still contain crates and property from the previous crew of the Normandy. She is also requesting an updated timetable of the Normandy's comms readiness. I have, of course, sent memos to the Staff Lieutenant regarding both these issues, but she insists on speaking to you directly."

_Of course she does._

Making brief greetings to Specialists Lucas and Xian, who were playing with wires underneath one of the instrument panels, Samantha cut across the wide, round war room. Peppered with chairs and high tech consoles, it was a far cry from the stark salarian laboratory that once occupied this half of deck 2.

Xian called out to Sam, peeking his dark eyes and messy hair out from an access panel in the floor. "Yo, Traynor! You're late!" She wished people would stop pointing that out. "And you need to check the ANN direct feed. Crazy bad interference. I'm gonna miss my stories." Samantha glibly replied that she wasn't responsible for the ANN's signal quality, and that he would just have to watch "Profiles in Courage" later.

The smaller comm hub behind the war room was still a work in progress. Heavy power cables had not yet been tucked under the floor boards, but the holo conference center was up and running. A yellow light pulsed on the comm panel, indicating an incoming transmission. An orange holo console popped up as Samantha approached it, and she typed in her credentials to accept the message.

A stern Hispanic woman with an officer's hat materialized above the third floor panel. Samantha crisply saluted the holo of Staff Lieutenant Vanessa Ventura, who was only a few kilometers away at Alliance HQ.

"Specialist Traynor."

"Lieutenant Ventura." Samantha had learned long ago to leave her disdain at the door. Just keep her face a mask and soldier through.

Ventura seemed to inspect a datapad before continuing. "I checked the retrofit logs. The Normandy is not ready for inspection."

"I was not aware we were being inspected, ma'am. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

The older woman put the datapad down and touched her fingertips together crossly. "You should **always** be ready for inspection," Ventura scowled.

_Right_.

Suddenly a feed lit up underneath the vid-call, spelling out a long list of delayed or delinquent Normandy action items. Samantha bit back the urge to shout, for some of these requests required acts of God. _Upgrading calibration suites?_ _A full drive core audit? Unless I missed about a million memos somewhere, she's pulling these requests out of her arse._

"My apologies, Lieutenant. My assignment to the Normandy did not include yeoman-level protocols. So my ability to procure tends to fall to the wayside when higher-ranking specialists make requests." _Higher-ranking delights such as yourself,_ Sam snorted inwardly, _whose need for gourmet coffee and scones trumps my need for engineering vent couplings and proprietary algorithm licenses._

Ventura shook her head with dismissal. "All I'm hearing is excuses. Admiral Anderson is scheduled to board the Normandy at 1330 today for an impromptu shakedown to Titan and back, following a late meeting with Commander Shepard and the Alliance Admiralty Board."

_Why am I always the last to know this shit?_ "Will the Commander or any of the Admirals be joining us?" Sam asked in a disinterested monotone. She didn't particularly care one way or the other, though Specialist Xian would be over the moon. Shepard's was his favorite "Profile in Courage" and Samantha bet a hundred credits hers was the "story" he was keen on watching. Again.

"No. The Commander is under lockdown pending sentencing for her actions over the last year," Ventura growled. She was not one of Shepard's adoring fans. "But as you are not signed on for active duty, you are responsible for ensuring the Normandy is at optimal readiness for her ground crew."

_Oh, goody. _Sam eyed the long list of things left to do, many circling around removal of all the extraneous tech and parts. All of the unchecked stress test items were already complete, they just weren't properly reported on. Samantha and Specialist Lucas had an ongoing bet over who had to do all that bureaucratic bullshit, with no definite winner (or loser) in sight. _We'll flip a coin later._

"Understood, Lieutenant. We will be ready for the Admiral's test drive of his **new** old ship," Sam lied with a smile. Her weak joke flew right over Ventura's head, who just muttered a distracted "Indeed."

Just as Sam was about to sign off with a polite goodbye, Ventura tilted her head. "May I ask why you have not put in a request to continue to serve aboard the Normandy_, _Specialist Traynor?"

_Because you would be my executive officer and make my life hell?_ Sam cleared her throat to disguise a derisive chuckle.

"I intend to return to R&D on Arcturus Station. I had several QEC research projects in the works before I was requested to assist the retrofits. I like to finish things, ma'am. The Normandy is up and running beautifully. She needs a **combat** comms specialist for all that exploding and excitement, not a stodgy old tech geek like me."

"But the Normandy is the most advanced ship in the Alliance Navy, with its own QEC array. I think your time would be better suited to assisting us here," Ventura challenged, not satisfied with Samantha's modesty.

Sam replied through gritted teeth. "I'll take that under advisement, ma'am." _Yet another woman telling me what I should be doing with my life. Three for three today, a new record. All sorts of records being broken today. _

_Just no good ones._

"As you should. Now what is the estimate on—wha?" A quizzical expression crossed Ventura's face as she looked somewhere off to her left. The confusion transitioned suddenly to horror.

"Oh my—oh my God!"

The Lieutenant shouted something else, but the feed cut out with a rumble. The last thing Sam saw was Ventura diving to her side, with what looked to be rubble crashing down on top of her.

That crash became very real as a dull rumble coursed through the Normandy. A warning klaxon blared as EDI came over the intercom. "Proximity warning. The Alliance dock is under attack. All exterior hatches closing and all crew report to their work stations."

_Work stations?! There are 11 people on this damn ship! What are two security guards, three comms specialists, two pilots, two engineers and two weapons guidance techs going to do? Can we even get this ship running with a skeleton crew like this?_

A second shockwave snapped Samantha out of her confused stupor. She struggled to stay upright down the infernal stairs of the war room but fell against the opposite railing. Lucas rolled across the floor while Xian held on to wiring for dear life. They both shouted at Sam for answers she didn't have. She wasn't a soldier, after all. She was supposed to be sipping coffee in the CIC while casually mapping real-time data lags on the galaxy map. Samantha kept closing her eyes and opening them to make sure this wasn't just a sleep-deprived nightmare she wasn't waking up from.

"Alliance impound lockdown has been overridden. Distress signal from Alliance Headquarters received. Multiple hostiles engaged. Rescue assigned mission-critical significance, combat assigned secondary priority," EDI reported.

_Hostiles? Did the batarians attack Earth? How did they make it through our defense network? _Sam's mind was a whirlwind of panic. She told the two Specialists to man the feeds like EDI asked. Their faces were ashen but they complied, Omni-tools glowing with purpose.

"EDI! What's happening?!" Another blast rocked the ship as Samantha stumbled to the conference area. She clung to the glass wall and peered out the window. The sight was enough to make her nauseous.

The Normandy was already lifting off out of the dock as the view tilted from the harbor to show the inland city. Giant squid-like robots, taller than skyscrapers, were landing in the distance. Angry red eyes sent out high-intensity blasts. Each sweep of red reduced buildings, cars, trees, **flesh** to ashes. Smaller crab-like ships, still bigger than most Alliance heavy cruisers, joined their larger brothers in the streets. Their focus was on releasing terrifying abominations, some humanoid, some not, onto the defenseless men, women and children unfortunate enough to be outside today.

"Specialist Traynor. The Reapers are here."

EDI said it so matter-of-factly. There was no other possible explanation. Just... Reapers.

_But Reapers are just … children's stories. Shepard's stories? Just… stories. Not real. This can't be real. How is this happening? _

Sam's hand flew to her mouth before her mind could actually process why. Out the window, on the opposite coast, a tall building bearing a bold, glowing EAE logo swayed for a second before completely collapsing. A giant Reaper stepped over the ruins on its rampage through downtown Vancouver.

_EAE? Why do I know that name?_

_Eldfell-Ashland Energy._

_Izzy. Isabella was in there._

It was EDI who finally broke through, because Samantha's brain had simply stopped working for a few seconds. "Specialist Traynor. I am in contact with Admiral Anderson and Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams. I require your assistance in the CIC to clean up their communication transmissions, for most of my suites are currently engaged in running the Normandy in absence of a functioning crew."

Jerking backward, Sam dug her fingernails into her palms to remind herself she was alive and that yes, this was happening. Privates Westmoreland and Campbell were no longer idling their time with catching up on celebrity gossip. Both female soldiers were now sporting assault rifles, which pointed at Sam when the doors swung open.

All three women exclaimed a hearty "Shit!" before the soldiers gestured for Sam to keep going. She slid into her waiting console next to the galaxy map, making smooth swipes to bring up the proper channels. A blue tracking beacon on the roof of the Alliance HQ showed "Lt Cmdr A Williams" huddled in a corner with two other marines. Red dots flanked the position of those blue blips.

More Reapers. More monsters. More nightmares.

_Okay. Okay okay okay. _Sam chanted in her mind over and over to try and even out her breathing, which was nearing hyperventilation-level intervals. _Oh. _Inhale. _Kay._ Exhale.

"Specialist Traynor, I will need you to lock on to the Lieutenant Commander and ping her to these coordinates—" EDI brought up a neighboring building with a large landing pad adjoined by a jet bridge on the holographic city map, "—so that we can extract them. I have also received a transmission from Admiral Anderson but I have been unable to pinpoint his location."

_Okay. Okay okay okay. I can do that. I do that all the time. I am the queen of doing that. O-kay._

Sam pulled out every coding and bypass trick in her arsenal to overcome the perpetual [Connection Failure] screen keeping her from that little blue dot on the roof. Victory came in the form of a shouting female voice through the comm feed.

"—ple hostiles! Need a pickup ASAP! Williams to Normandy! Respond! Over!"

EDI took over the guidance of the officers while Samantha switched gears to hunt down an elusive wave feed that was buried amidst thousands of other emergency distress signals being broadcast across the city, the **planet**, at this very moment. Burst fire struck the Normandy's kinetic shields as it unsteadily maneuvered past Reaper ground troops to reach Ashley Williams. Specialists Hertzfeld and Douglas in the third deck weapon bay unleashed the Normandy's heavy guns to clear a path for the marines.

Typing furiously, Samantha rerouted the remaining satellite feeds that were still broadcasting to one holo screen while opening another to start running custom scan filters. "Adm D Anderson" was in there somewhere, amidst thousands of other comm channel IP addresses. Isolate for military encoding. Cross filter with rank parameters. Last known location, pinpoint coordinates, and—

"EDI! I've got it! Comm link 045.7.8300.1-A7, Vancouver Harbor, on the roof of the ANN Telecom Tower!"

"Link established, Specialist Traynor. Thank you," came the warm reply. Sam and EDI opened a secure socket so that the Lieutenant Commander and Admiral could communicate without fear the enemy would cut them off or lock in to their position.

Samantha then went to work cleaning up the feed as best she could, although keeping a lock on the Admiral's comm unit was proving difficult. But she was able to overhear a good chunk of conversation at least.

"Lieutenant Commander? You read me? I'm patching in Shepard."

A new IP appeared on Samantha's screen, granting it classified-level access. She grabbed on to it and ran it through the necessary security filters, confirming it was in fact Commander Annelise Shepard.

"We're almost to the Normandy. I've got Lieutenant Vega with me, but we're taking heavy fire," Ashley said amidst the pop of gunfire. An affirmative from EDI reported Williams, James Vega, and Sergeant Benjamin Mason boarded the ship a few seconds later.

"We're about five minutes out," Anderson reported, before his comm cut out with an alarmed shout. "**Husks!**"

_Is that what those—those things are?_ Samantha tapped into some of the emergency news feeds while keeping a close ear on the progress of Anderson and Shepard. Panicked journalists showed waves of terrifying monsters sweeping in to cities like a plague. London. Paris. Beijing. Buenos Aires. New York. They were all the same.

The voice of a terrified boy brought Samantha back to the immediate carnage at hand.

"Everyone's dying."

"Come here. I need to get you someplace safe."

It was the first time Sam had heard Shepard speak. Her voice was husky and warm. There was a pressing urgency to her words, but also the promise of safety. She asked the boy to take her hand. The child's response chilled Samantha to her core.

"You can't help me."

The boy didn't sound older than ten years old, and his hope was gone. _If a child could stop believing, what hope was there for any of us? What can I do, against all this? Who am I to these things, these Reapers? I'm nobody._

Static took over the channel, so Samantha at least had something to busy herself from the dark thoughts closing in. The banter between Joker and Lieutenant Williams buzzing over her console also proved a decent distraction. Those two bickered like old friends: Ashley was stern and serious but had a touch of snark, while Joker's surly sarcasm was immune to even the end of the world. Williams sounded like she might have been one of the popular girls, the jocks. The ones who made life hell for geeks like Sam.

_Get a grip, Traynor. You don't even know what she looks like. She's down in the shuttle bay. She's not about to tackle you and give you a noogie and make you do her homework. _

The silly thoughts did make Samantha uncomfortably aware that her back was facing the elevator and she wouldn't even see it coming. _Right. Because that's a priority when the world is being invaded by super aliens._

_Focus, Sam._

_Okay. Okay okay okay._

Anderson's comm finally cut back in after two minutes and thirty-nine seconds of dead air. "Lieutenant Commander Williams! We're in sight of the spaceport! ETA three minutes!"

"We made it to the Normandy," Williams shouted as the ship lurched. "We're taking heavy fire!" Even with the artificial pressure and gravity, Sam had to hold on to her console edge to keep from spinning off into a wall. An emergency halter attached to a sturdy cable popped out of the control panel. Dropping her arms through the straps, Samantha clipped the bungee to her belt to ensure she kept her feet on the ground.

"Oh God!" The Lieutenant Commander's cry of horror was drowned out by a proximity warning from EDI. Before Sam could ask what was going on, Williams clarified. "They're gonna take down that dreadnought! Evasive maneuvers!"

_They? Who's they? Whose dreadnought? Could we—could we be winning? Pushing them back?_

[Connection failure]

Sam cursed as the secure socket disconnected the Normandy from the Admiral and Shepard. She cursed again as a deep, resonating shockwave hit the ship. Her security buckle held as she was jerked off her feet by rough turbulence. "The Kilimanjaro-class SSV McKinley has been destroyed. Chance of survivors: 0.07%," EDI reported. Joker's cursing was much more colorful than Sam's.

"Anderson! Anderson, do you read me?" Ashley's comm broke through the stunned silence. She demanded a reconnection to the Admiral. Samantha ran search protocols, but both Shepard and Anderson had dropped off the communication map.

So an introduction was long overdue. "Lieutenant Commander, this is Specialist Traynor. I am working to reestablish a connection, but our system is overloaded with distress signals. There is simply too much interference. I need a signal boost from the Admiral on the ground in order to lock on to their position."

To Williams' credit, she didn't swear at or berate Sam for things out of their control. _One up on Ventura_, Samantha thought bitterly, before swallowing that resentment with guilt. _Of course she has one up on Ventura: she's still alive._

"Understood, Traynor. I will continue hailing the Admiral until communications are back up. And when they are, I'm gonna need a big favor."

"What's that, ma'am?"

"I'll tell you when the time comes, Specialist. Keep trying Shepard, too."

_Well, that sounds ominous_, Samantha chewed her lip. She went back to probing the data feeds for any signs of comm signals. After the first half dozen probes into signals, Samantha had to set up a rule not to listen in to any feeds. She couldn't handle listening to hysterical women, panicking medics, or distraught soldiers demanding answers from the chain of command. The cry was the same for everyone.

_What do we do?_

_What do we do against something like this? Run? Where do we run to? What if they're everywhere? _

_Okay. Okay okay okay._

A small gunship, the SSV Zelda, suddenly pinged Samantha's terminal. Her lip curled in a cautious smile when she saw two familiar comm links reconnect. Shepard. Anderson_. They made it_. Sam locked on to that comm buoy's signal with half a dozen layers of encryption before patching it over to Ashley's frequency.

"—ndy! This is Anderson, do you read!"

"Admiral! What's your location?"

"By a downed gunship in the harbor. I'm activating its distress beacon. Send support. We've got wounded out here—" A garbled burst of static and the comm went dead once more. Williams requested a response in her channel a few times before she gave up.

_Bloody hell. _Slamming her fist on the console, Samantha shouted at her terminal. "I know you're in there! Where are you?!" She managed to isolate the coordinates of the signal's distress beacon, but it simply didn't have the power to piggyback for comms anymore. She would have to find another comm buoy to tether to the Admiral's IP, but where—

"Specialist Traynor, I need you in the shuttle bay," Ashley commanded over the intercom. "Now."

_Bloody hell_, Sam swore inwardly again. But Williams **was** the ranking officer on the ship. Until Anderson, the assigned commanding officer, was found, Samantha had to obey the chain of command. Unhooking her safety harness, she shakily padded over to the elevator and hit the glowing _4_ on the panel. She wondered if taking an elevator in a combat situation was a good idea, and mentally calculated her odds on getting stuck.

_Seven to one there's sudden power loss and I get trapped. Five to one a direct hit somehow severs the cable and I plummet three decks to a very uncomfortable landing. Two to one I curl up in a ball and refuse to leave the elevator._

EDI updated their status. "We have located Admiral Anderson and Commander Shepard. ETA: two minutes. Extraction point shows approximately thirty-two hostiles at or near the Commander and Admiral Anderson. Status: extremely hot. Specialists Hertzfeld and Douglas: recalibrate heavy guns for precision targeting. Specialists Xian and Lucas: open up all emergency channels to broadcast Alliance retreat. Engineers Rashad and Pierce: assess kinetic barrier levels and drive core expulsion for FTL travel. Lieutenant Cortez: prep the Kodiak in case of emergency evac."

_Wait, I can help. I can do those things. I'm the queen of doing those things_, Sam mused despondently as the elevator doors opened. Her first view was of a beefy marine digging around in the armory for an arm guard. He had to be over 1,95m tall, complete with broad shoulders and a close cropped mohawk of hair. He slapped on a helmet just as a shorter brunette swept over to Samantha.

"Traynor? I'm calling in that favor now." Ashley Williams was different than Sam had pictured. For one, she was gorgeous. Waves of dark hair, full lips, bright brown eyes. She also had an assault rifle in one gloved hand and a heavy pistol in the other. Suddenly, the pistol was being tossed at Sam.

It was ungraceful and embarrassing and calling it a "catch" would have been an insult to all catches in the history of humankind. The gun was heavier than Sam remembered pistols being, and it struck her left palm before bobbling above her right hand, then she swept it to her chest before finally just dropping the damn thing.

Again, to Williams' credit, she didn't mock Samantha. She waited for Sam to pick up the gray and black weapon before continuing.

"I'm gonna need you to help defend the elevator, Specialist. Vega, Mason and I will take point on extracting the Admiral and Shepard. We aren't landing, but there's still a chance some hostiles might try to board the ship. If they do, we need every man and woman on this ship armed and ready to serve. We can't lose the Normandy again." Pain briefly flashed across Ashley's face before becoming serious once more.

It crossed Samantha's mind to protest. To say she couldn't do it. She wasn't a soldier, after all. But instead, a hardness settled inside her chest. It vaguely resembled determination, but it was enough. Instead of refusing, Sam nodded and took up a place behind the weapon bench.

Turbulence in the shuttle bay was the worst. Samantha could feel every jerk of the thrusters, every dip of the stabilizers, every blast hitting the kinetic shields. She took the time crouched behind the console to recall her very brief weapons training two years ago. Even geeks had to be certified to handle weapons, and Sam had received decent marks on her exams.

"_It's because you're a woman,"_ her trainer had said. _"Women are just naturally better shots. It's the breathing. Once you get the breathing down, shooting is a breeze."_

_Breathe. Right. Okay. Okay okay okay. Deep breath. Slow. Steady. Sight your target. Inhale. Squeeze the trigger on the exhale. _

She practiced a few times, making sure the safety was on. It seemed simple enough. The M-3 Predator was a heavier version of the M-5 Phalanx she'd used in training. Simple enough.

Then the shuttle bay doors opened and simple got really complicated. Ashley, James and Sergeant Mason bravely descended the bay doors and disappeared from sight, and the scene beyond was absolutely terrifying. Sam could see bright red **things**, armed to the teeth with rifles. Most were trading fire with presumably the Admiral and Shepard out of sight below, while more than a few were gleefully **eating** their fallen foes. Black and red haze surrounded their feeding, drawing strength from their cannibalistic madness.

That hard determination in Sam's chest sank to the pit of her stomach, and she squinched her eyes shut. She could still see their claws ripping into the intestines of humans, _each other_, in the chaos that was Earth. Hearing Williams shout for Anderson jerked Samantha back to the terrible reality.

She couldn't see anything, but the shuttle bay doors started to retract.

_Oh God. What is coming aboard? Did they find Shepard? Anderson? Why isn't anyone saying anything? What do I do? What do I do?_

_I am not okay._

Everything evil and wrong is red. Red eyes. Red reapers. Red blood. So when Sam saw a red head with a red face pop up, she didn't think. She popped the safety off, closed her eyes, and fired blindly into the distance.

Samantha opened her eyes in time to see the bullet deflect off a hazy blue barrier. Her target, a new woman, had pulled her right hand into a tight, blood-stained paw against her chest. Her fingers relaxed as the biotic shield released. The fingers flexed outward suddenly and the pistol was yanked from Samantha's hands. It sped across the room to rest safely in the woman's outstretched hand, while biotic blue strands faded from the motion.

In the woman's left hand was a cord with jingling metal tags on the end. She lifted and dropped the dog tags over a crop of dark red hair, where they settled at home against her collarbone. White and red "N7" shone back at Samantha.

_Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit **SHIT**._

Soot traced over high, blood-smeared cheekbones. Medium lips were tightened with stress. Ferocity glinted in deep green eyes.

Commander Annelise Shepard.

Sam had just shot at Commander **_bloody _**Shepard. Her first instinct was to hold up her hands in childish surrender. Samantha felt fire explode on her cheeks in profound embarrassment. She wanted to say she was sorry, say something, but her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

The intensity in Shepard's green eyes was replaced by a new glint. Of amusement. She casually popped the heat sink out of the pistol as she strolled over to the weapon bench in front of Sam. Dropping the gun on the table, Shepard flashed Samantha a warm, understanding smile.

"Dismissed, soldier. We've got a war to win."


	2. God Plays Dice

**Ren's Note:  
**_So I was pretty surprised at the response chapter one received. Thanks so much for the kind reviews, and especially the corrections. I appreciate the encouragement as well as the critique._

_I've decided to move forward with turning this into a full Mass Effect 3 dive into Samantha Traynor aboard the Normandy. I'm game if you are! _

_I'm still working on the overall outline, but it will probably be a very long haul with a mixture of new interactions on top of canon in-game dialogue. I also really want to include DLC content as well, including Omega and Leviathan. As always, I would adore any feedback or suggestions on anything you'd like to see over the course of this story, not limited to characters, missions, or scenes._

* * *

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Samantha's head struck the back of the elevator in three-second intervals. She was counting how many times she could slam her head against the wall in the time it took to go from the Shuttle Bay back to the CIC. _Where I belong._

The elevator ride up to the CIC was almost as agonizing as the ride down had been for Sam. Her mind found new and interesting ways to be embarrassed anew about what had happened down in the Shuttle Bay just a few short minutes ago.

_God. It was just... a smorgasbord of awful. I panicked. While holding a supremely dangerous weapon. I fired on my commanding officer. Who I thought was a bloody Reaper. Then I get dismissed. Like a child._

_Or… maybe… like a soldier?_

Still hitting her head against the wall, Traynor wasn't sure if she was pleased or embarrassed at the possible idea that Commander Shepard mistook her for an actual soldier. _The worst bloody soldier in the Alliance, at that._

She sighed and welcomed the sight of the galaxy map through the opening elevator doors. _And… time! 54 knocks to the head for a travel time of 162 seconds. I'd add in a few decimal places since that last one was in the middle of a beat, but who's counting? _

The sarcastic bravado inside was decaying rapidly, in danger of becoming unhinged if her mind was allowed more than a few seconds to devote focus on the situation. Samantha's command console blinked impatiently with an incoming transmission, a welcome respite. The encryptions were classified. High ranking. Sam didn't recognize the IP address and had to do a search, then swore under her breath when a match came up.

_Admiral Steven Hackett. …Right._

The signal was absolutely terrible. Even with more than a little help from EDI, Samantha couldn't pull more than a few percentage points out of the dirty signal. _It'll have to do. _

She wished she had her clean-up suites, an array of hacking filters and scrubber programs gathered from a range of sources. Some were even hand-coded. None were **technically** Alliance-issue so they weren't approved to use. The filters not sitting inside a storage chit back at Samantha's apartment were locked in requisitions hell with Lieutenant Ventura.

_My apartment. So many tiny, useless things that somehow summarized the most precious parts of my life. The hematite and rose quartz chess set my father gave me. My console and storage chits, the tools of so many hours of scheming, learning, creating… That tiny little efficiency that was home for four months… is it gone? Crushed under a giant Reaper claw or melted to rubble from a canon? Crushed like—like Ventura? _

Swallowing deeply, Sam pushed both the selfish and the bitter thoughts away. A few keystrokes sent the transmission down to Commander Shepard in the Shuttle Bay.

"Shepard...—sustained heavy losses," Admiral Hackett's deep voice garbled. "The invading force was overwhelming— … There's no way we can defeat them conventionally."

_Clean up, damn you. You can do it. I see you right there, so shape up_, Samantha growled at the comm signal dropping in and out of range. It was all she could do to not ponder the ominousness of his words, the sureness of our defeat.

"Anderson's already ordered us to the Citadel to talk to the Council." Shepard was calm. On Sam's second screen, the woman had cleaned up her bloody face and hands. There was a disheveled prettiness to the Commander, an air of untamed confidence. Even with a dribbling gash on a freckled cheek, Annelise Shepard looked poised and ready for action.

"First, I need you… —lliance outpost on Mars… —efore we lose control of the system."

_"Lose control of the system?" We're that far gone already? _Sam felt the color drain from her face as an unnatural coldness traced up her spine. _Work on the signal. Work on the signal. Work on the signal._

"…been researching the Prothean Archives with Dr. T'Soni. …found a way to stop the Reapers. –ould be the only way to stop them. We'll be in contact soon. Hackett out."

Even though Hackett's comm dropped off, Sam dimly observed a spike in Shepard's signature as it switched to internal comms. "Flight Lt J Moreau" popped on to the feed before briefly cutting out, followed by Joker's voice coming over the ship-wide intercom.

"Saddle up, Normandiers_. _Change of course. We're making a pit stop at Mars."

EDI was not satisfied with Joker's update, insisting on adding, "Continue manning your stations. The Alliance has flagged the Normandy for combat readiness and will be retaining a full crew once we arrive at the Citadel. At our current trajectory, we will reach the Prothean Archives in less than five minutes."

_Mars? The Citadel? But... what about Earth?_

The afterimage of Earth still burned fresh in Sam's mind. She had spent so much of the invasion (_massacre?) _locked away aboard the Normandy. Just watching through a window or via a vid feed in a detached, unreal way. Like maybe if she closed her eyes tight enough and gave her arms a few hearty pinches, she would wake up in her bed simply cursing a bad dream.

Remembering her bed made Sam suddenly remember Isabella. That detached unreality translated to the fall of the Eld-Ash Tower, to an odd uncertain hope that Izzy wasn't in there. _It's not as though I saw her... being crushed... Maybe... Maybe she's all right._

_Does not seeing the rest of Earth burn make it not true? Grow up, Sam._

Her own cruelty made Samantha aware of how she really felt about that woman. Because it created a kind of cyclical guilt that threatened to send her reeling to the bathroom on Deck 3.

_Am I sad? I mean, maybe a little? Izzy could be a comfort. Kind of funny. Soft and smooth. She had this commanding presence, a way of making the room part around her and take notice and listen._ It was intoxicating, but when pulled into a smaller room full of shadows and secrets, Isabella was ...small. Her demanding nature could be alluring. But after the excitement dwindled, all that truly remained was an impatience wrapped in an insecure (_but still attractive) _shell.

Other than a sort of personal representation to cut through the incomprehensible **loss **going on right this very moment on Earth, Isabella was... unimportant. Samantha mourned the idea of Izzy, but not the woman herself. And this confession made Sam hate herself.

_How can I think this way? She's gone! So many on Earth are being burned to ash by th_—_those **things**_, _ those **Reapers**_. _Was it_—_was it quick? Did she suffer? Did she think about me before_—_before it happened? Would I even **want**_ _her to?_

The elevator button was being pressed for Deck 3 before Samantha was even aware of her surroundings. Thankfully, her body seemed to have taken over the difficult task of wielding this useless sack of meat. Propelled out the door a handful of seconds later, Sam tripped into the bathroom and nearly fell headfirst into the first toilet. But now her body had given up handling the show, leaving her to vomit pitifully on the floor.

It was acidic and bitter and mostly bile. Some of it even came out through her nose, tainting her senses completely. Sam wretched until she could only dry heave, feeling her short black hair slick against her cheeks. It all tasted like defeat. Despair. Guilt. So, so much guilt.

_I wish_—_what do I wish? I wish the Reapers defeated, obviously. Earth saved. But what about Isabella? Everyone else? Maybe I wish she has someone to mourn her properly? To wish someone is filled with that wistful longing that would move mountains to avenge her? Could I ever be that person? Would I ever do that for someone, or have someone do that for me? What do I do with this? Other than feel impossibly guilty and useless?_

Mostly, Samantha was afraid. She felt small, overwhelmed and useless. The Shuttle Bay had proven just how out of her league she was. That when the time came to be brave, Samantha had closed her eyes and acted blindly and nearly hurt someone. What difference could she possibly make?

Bringing her knees to her chest, Sam batted away the wetness on her cheeks, not caring if it were tears or ...something else. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, numb and dazed, trying to comprehend a way to mourn an entire planet. A planet already declared lost by the ones claiming to protect it.

_"Lose control of the system" _kept floating and repeating drearily in her mind, such a concise summary of billions of lives. It was several long minutes (_hours?_) before Sam was able to push that thought into a worse conclusion.

_"The system..." Sounds so, military, so tactical. As though we have other systems to lose... Wait... _Sam's conversation with her father from earlier came surging in like a tidal wave. _Horse Head... Exodus... The blackouts... Is that them? Reapers? There were hundreds on Earth! Thousands! How many systems can they take at once? Are they already everywhere? Is the war already lost?_

As if to emphasize this, Sam suddenly heard the elevator door open. Heavy footfalls and grunts trailed out and down the hall, occasionally interrupted by Shepard firmly demanding, "Move. Move!"

Curious, Samantha pushed herself heavily to her feet and went to the sink to slap water on her face and swish a few mouthfuls to dull the awful taste in her mouth. She didn't even bother looking in the mirror, knowing there was nothing there she wanted to see right now. Sam made her way outside unsteadily, then followed the hallway to the last place she heard movement.

Through the glass of the Medical Bay, an asari in combat armor and a lab coat stood against a gurney, her expression stricken with worry. Sam could barely make out an armored soldier leaning intently over another, and it wasn't until she saw bright red hair did she realize it was Commander Shepard.

_Dr. T'Soni was an asari, wasn't she? They must have found her on Mars already. Christ, how long was I wallowing in the little girls' room while the grown-ups did their jobs? …Snap out of it, Sam._

The Commander nor T'Soni (_what was her first name? Laria?) _took any notice of the comms specialist lurking outside the executive officer's (_retrofitted_) suite. Shepard seemed to be in a daze, unmoving. Through the open door to the Medical Bay, Sam heard the asari repeating Shepard's name over and over, to no avail. Sam was briefly tempted to come out of hiding, before T'Soni leaned over the table and desperately sought eye contact with Shepard.

"Ashley needs medical attention," the asari said simply, but with a pressing urgency. When the Commander didn't react, she shoved her azure face in closer. More demanding. "We **have** to leave the Sol system."

"I know!" Shepard shouted petulantly. Whereas Sam shrank back at the gruff bark, T'Soni didn't even flinch. She tilted her head to once more match the Commander's, calmly explaining, "The Citadel is our best chance. We can find help there." From a distance, Sam couldn't tell what, if anything, was passing between human and asari.

She had to stand on her tiptoes to see over the wall to catch a glimpse of Ashley Williams. Her deep blue hardsuit showed some scuff marks. Maybe a few glancing blows of bullets. But no angry red wounds in soft, vulnerable places. The Lieutenant Commander's feet were closest to Sam, so her eyes roved their way up Williams' body (_grow up, Sam) _until she finally saw the woman's face.

Dark hair was splayed about the soldier's head while the attractive features were marred with dark bruises. The skin was pebbled red from both burns and broken blood vessels. The damage was clearly focused on deep head trauma and, with the heavy hardsuit, Sam couldn't tell if Williams was even breathing or not.

Shepard ordered to the ceiling for Joker to get the Normandy to the Citadel, to which the pilot replied somberly, "Roger that."

"Heads up, amiga." A soft tenor popped from Samantha's right. She jumped with a start as James Vega padded by with another female body slung over his shoulder, though this one was burned to a crisp. Sam felt her stomach churn once more. _How many people are coming back corpses?_

Even though she was heavily armored, with sharp angular shoulderpads and heavy bracers, Shepard seemed oddly fragile. She looked like she wanted to stay and flee Ashley's side at the same time. When Vega stomped in and dropped the new arrival onto a far gurney, the Commander's concern did not shift. In fact, she seemed almost angry.

Facing Dr. T'Soni, Shepard pointed emphatically at the charred body. "See what you and EDI can learn from that—that **thing**."

_Thing?! Is it... a Reaper?_

"Commander, I'm receiving a message over the secondary QEC. I believe it is Admiral Hackett," EDI reported overhead.

Squeaking with a start, two emotions hit Sam simultaneously. The first was shame that EDI was in control of comms because Samantha had clearly dropped the ball. The second was sheer panic that Shepard was taking off at a jog to the elevator. And was coming straight at Sam.

The XO's office, remodeled only slightly from the previous Cerberus owner, was still barren of any character. It barely looked livable, as the pristine metal seemed more sterile than even the Med Bay. But it was a good enough place to dart into to escape admitting you were eavesdropping on your commanding officer.

Afraid to even sit down in one of the pair of white chairs sprinkled across the office area, Sam pressed her back against the wall. She could scarcely breathe until she heard the doctor's and Commander's footsteps disappear into the elevator.

The limp form of Ashley Williams in the Med Bay was complicated to digest. Samantha had never served on an active warship, so the casualties of war were foreign until quite literally this morning. Her one brief interaction with the Lieutenant Commander in the Shuttle Bay was a memory already replaced by that broken body on that medical bed.

_How quickly things change. From bad to worse. I really don't want to start betting on how long it takes to get from worse to worst. …**is** there anything worse than this?_

A young boy's voice echoed that thought. _"Everyone's dying."_

"_I'll get you someplace safe," _Shepard had replied. Sam wanted to believe that now.

_**I** want to be somewhere safe. Where the hell is that? _


	3. Just A Simple Request

"Sam? Sammy, are you all right? We—we heard… Are you—is Earth—?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

_Earth… is not._ But Samantha couldn't bring herself to say that. She'd been practicing for almost a half hour before punching in the familiar IP address for Horizon. The four disconnections before finally reaching the colony had dissolved what little courage Sam had built up, however. As had the tense 32 hour journey at FTL speed, mostly spent staring blankly at the ANN alert about the full scale retreat from Earth.

The Normandy crew was quietly separate and grieving. Everyone felt lost. Conversations with her fellow crew members were either clipped or hysterical. Before, they would gather in the mess at lunch to joke and laugh. Lucas, Xian and Sam would bore the others to tears with chatter about new leaps in QEC tech. The boys in the guidance system, Hertzfeld and Douglas, loved comparing Alliance, turian, asari, and salarian ships like they would baseball teams back on Earth. Cortez would make brief appearances when Lieutenant Vega would stop by, but theirs was a tightly-knit brotherhood in the Shuttle Bay otherwise. Engineer Pierce usually bickered with his wife via Omni-tool while Rashad had her nose in a datapad about her favorite topics of the week. Just yesterday, Rashad was regaling Samantha and company about a conspiracy theory that salarians landed on ancient Earth and deposited dinosaurs there.

And now?

Specialist Seth Lucas brooded quietly in the war room while fiddling with cables. By comparison, Samantha asked for one update from specialist Chen Xian who promptly demanded to know what the plan was and what was taking so long. Engineers Morena Rashad and Victor Pierce just worked until they collapsed from exhaustion. No reading or bickering anymore. Cortez was keeping to himself in the Shuttle Bay more so than usual. Mourning a planet, and a husband lost only a few months ago, made the pilot more despondent than usual. Full of bravado, specialists Xander Hertzfeld and Ian Douglas craved an epic battle for the Normandy to test out her new weapons. It was just as well.

Their camaraderie had been a known, temporary thing. Once the Normandy was declared ready for active duty, this gang of repairmen and women was supposed to scatter to the stars once more.

Once they'd landed at the Citadel, most of the crew rushed straight for the Alliance embassy to figure out their roles in all this insanity. Only Sam had stayed back. She just… wasn't ready yet. Together, Samantha and EDI tried to solve for the sudden influx of comm traffic over the QEC network. The distraction had been welcome, plus Sam also had a call of her own to make.

_Remind me to give that VI a raise, though how her processes ran a whole bloody ship for two relay jumps is just… incredible. Odd, suspicious and impossible, but incredible._

…_I'll worry about that later. After a long overdue diagnostic of the server core._

First priority was trying to explain to Geoffrey Traynor what his little girl had been through. _What everyone is going through. Everywhere._

"I was on the Normandy when it—when it happened. The attack. We just—they're real, Dad," Sam finished awkwardly. She still had trouble believing it… That giant dreadnoughts had come in the night and were invading the galaxy. _Reapers._

Geoffrey shook his head. "…I know, princess. We got news reports from the ANN while it started happening. That Emily Wong woman that you like so much, she was there. Reporting on… everything. Madrid, Sydney, Beijing… London…" Her father trailed off, choked up about what was happening millions of miles away in his hometown.

"Where's mum?"

He leaned back as though he heard something, but then Geoffrey turned back to the vid camera. "She was called in for an after-hours emergency at the clinic just after we got the first reports. She's on her way back, and I keep thinking I hear the door. I talked to her a little while ago. She's worried sick about you."

"I'm all right. We're docked at the Citadel to figure out what to do," Sam sighed. _If we even __**can**__ figure out what to do._

"Can you—can you tell me anything about what the Alliance's response is? I've seen M-080s rolling around, but other than crap about 'curfew' and 'vigilance,' they've been silent. They don't wear Alliance blue, either. Some sort of independent security force with roots in Horizon. I dunno."

"I haven't heard anything, Dad. I haven't even received orders yet about where they're supposed to put me. But they—the Alliance had to retreat from our system. There were too many Reapers."

Geoffrey swallowed deeply. "They canceled all my classes at the University this week. So I just get the privilege of sitting around watching the news and hoping it doesn't get worse." He closed his eyes and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "At least you're up there doing something about it. Us colony civilians just get to hunker down and pray we aren't next."

"So you—you haven't… there aren't…" Sam was afraid if she said it out loud, it would jinx it.

Her father managed a feeble smile. "No Reapers on Horizon, kid. And there's even talk of a super bunker on the south east end of the planet that was some abandoned military testing area. Sanctuary, they're calling it. A lot of the people here want to pack up and go there already.

"Me," he added with a wink, "I'm holding out for the Fifth Fleet to nuke all the Reapers from orbit. With Commander Shepard riding a bomb down to the mothership like a cowboy."

_Well, if Dad is hoping for a Dr. Strangelove scenario, he must be in good spirits._ Sam didn't have the same affection for two centuries-old American movies that her father did. _"Once a classic, always a classic," he used to say._

"Speaking of which, you can tell mum not to worry. Commander Shepard is aboard the Normandy, and I think she's taking over for good. Tell mum her little girl is in capable hands." _Until that little girl gets reassigned to God knows where else._

Geoffrey Traynor asked incredulously, "Shepard's back?"

"Shepard's back." Samantha repeated, though she didn't share her father's awe. The Commander had returned to the Normandy several hours ago and retired to the captain's cabin in the loft. Without so much as an order or pep talk for the crew. **Liara **(_not Laria)_ T'Soni and James Vega had remained in the medical bay examining the robot chassis from Mars. Upon docking at the Citadel, both followed the medical team in escorting Ashley Williams' gurney to the hospital ward. Samantha vaguely recalled hearing EDI announce, "Logged: CO Shepard, XO Williams, Lt Vega and Dr. T'Soni are ashore."

Needless to say, Sam wasn't impressed yet with the first human SpecTRe's leadership capabilities.

Feeling that hopeless vulnerability starting to creep back in, Sam suddenly didn't want to be talking to her father anymore. Knowing he was safe was a relief, but the last 36 hours had left her raw and frustrated with herself. She had been perpetually hanging on the edge of bursting into tears every other moment, and losing it via vid-call with her daddy just made Samantha feel like more of a child.

"Sammy. I know that look," Geoffrey announced quietly. "I'll let you go to work out **whatever** it is you think you need to do. I won't have anyone thinking the Traynors are a soppy bunch. Especially the daughters on galaxy-saving warships."

_He always understood me_, Sam swallowed gratefully. The hot tears sitting on her eyelashes managed to retreat some. "I—thanks, Dad. It's not that I don't—I mean… You know I love you guys, right? I just—things are…"

"Don't worry about us. Your mum and I are troopers. Just call us to let us know you're okay, all right? Fulfill the least of your daughterly responsibilities, alpha **and** omega sprog." Geoffrey pressed Sam for a timeframe for her next call, but didn't prod her about how she was feeling or what was happening in that head of hers. _I'm sure mum will do that next time._

Sighing deeply, Sam stood up and stretched. She wasn't used to working in the bow hallway, and though the chairs lining the neck of the Normandy were more comfortable, Samantha felt more exposed with her back to the airlock than she did near the elevator.

"Watch it, human," a gravelly voice grunted from behind Sam. She spun around to face a tall drell with cables slung over his shoulders. Despite his heavy haul through the airlock, he hadn't made a sound.

Squeaking but then quickly clearing her throat, Sam tried to sound demanding. "What are you—are you allowed to be here?"

"Liara sent me. Said she was setting up base. Where do you want this stuff?"

"I—you—"

"Specialist Traynor, Liara T'Soni has been granted clearance by Admiral Hackett to establish an independent intelligence station aboard the Normandy in order to assist with the Crucible Project. I believe the office formerly occupied by Operative Lawson on the Crew Deck would be suitable for Dr. T'Soni's needs," EDI purred over the intercom.

The drell didn't even wait for a response as he shouldered past Samantha to the elevator. A glowing white info drone followed behind the drell, chattering incessantly about turian and salarian reports.

Irritated, Samantha turned back and reactivated her console. "EDI, what's all this then?" She found the clearance request dated only a few moments ago in the Normandy log, as well as updates regarding the initiation of a top secret project called the Crucible. _Damn, that asari moves fast. _Eyeing the stacks of servers and tech waiting outside the open door, Samantha amended that thought. _Damn, that asari moves __**really**__ fast. Where did she even get all this stuff?_

"I apologize for not informing you sooner, Specialist Traynor. I was only contacted by Dr. T'Soni a short while ago about her need for space to house her intelligence brokerage network. It would appear her previous …accommodations… are no longer available, and she requested to remain close to Commander Shepard to better coordinate her tasks."

Samantha felt an odd, displaced loyalty. Part of her just wanted to leave the ship and let the drell do his business and let the Commander sort it out later. Another part felt a protective obsessive-compulsive desire to keep an eye on the drell and make sure her (_is it __**yours**__, Sam?)_ ship was safe.

And the rest of Sam was just nosy.

_Look at those servers! I figured an asari would just have Armali tech, but Liara is sporting a full suite of Ayndroid Group scanners. Ariake Tech amplifiers! Synthetic Insights hardware! She could run a government-grade command center for an entire colony with this stuff!_

_Information broker, my arse._

Operative Feron sidestepped Sam's probing questions, but allowed her to follow him up and down the elevator to deposit loads of hardware into the empty quarters opposite the medical bay. The formerly pristine room now had haphazard cables and consoles strung every which way, with an imposing tower of vid screens lining the starboard wall. The drell was only too happy to leave the chattering drone to its work at the consoles, and left without another word to Sam.

_Friendly guy. We should get together for afternoon tea sometime. I bet he's a riot._

"Logged: CO Shepard is aboard," EDI announced above a few moments later.

_How long have I been loitering in the Normandy like a latchkey kid?_ Tired of waiting for the world, the **war**, to come to her, she decided to take the fight to Shepard. _Well, the metaphorical fight._ The rest of the crew had marched right up to Alliance HQ and demanded active duty papers. Samantha wanted to march to the source.

_Do you want to hide on the Citadel and wait for the Reapers to come? Or run to Horizon with mum and dad and hide in a bunker? You're a military officer, Traynor. A lieutenant, even. A leader. You can cry in the CIC all day long but that doesn't help anyone, least of all you. This ship was designed to be the best damn command center in the Alliance fleet. And you know every damn inch of it. The Normandy needs you. And you need the Normandy. Oo-rah!_

Her short-lived gusto faded some at the hit of the elevator button. _And how does this conversation go down, hmm? "I rebuilt this ship's comms system, dammit! You can't even send an email without my help!" _

_Extortion. Brilliant. _

_What else._

Samantha spied a datapad on the Starboard Observation Deck couch down the hall. A slideshow of the retrofits drifted by on the screen, no doubt left by Engineer Rashad during a brief nap. _A debriefing packet. _

_Brilliant!_

Darting down the hall to snag the datapad, Sam marched triumphantly back to the elevator. Her ticket to being useful for a change. Hopefully the first of many useful demonstrations, to put that scared little specialist in the Shuttle Bay behind her.

She thumbed through the image gallery for a refresher, then straightened her casual uniform. Samantha used the reflection on the wall to tame some flyaway hairs on her bob of black hair. When the doors opened, she peeked around the corner and saw the Commander leaning against the outside of her cabin. _Perfect!_

"Commander Shepard? I'm Specialist—oh." Sam's well-rehearsed opener hit a snag when she saw the asari next to Shepard glaring daggers at her. _How did she get up here so quickly? _The temperature in the cabin dropped a few degrees, leaving Samantha stuttering for her next words. "Oh—um—I—beg your pardon. I thought you were alone."

Shepard's green eyes twinkled slightly at this, though Liara's deep blue ones narrowed further. _Bloody hell, was it something I said?_

But just like that, the brief awkwardness was already broken. Liara backed away and sidled past Sam with a swish of a white lab coat, murmuring airily that she was just leaving. Saluting her commanding officer uneasily, Sam attempted to salvage what remained of her professionalism.

_Might as well just start over._ "Commander Shepard? I'm **Comms** Specialist Samantha Traynor with Alliance R&D." The left hand behind Sam had begun to sweat, so she shifted the datapad she was carrying to her right. "I was part of the team retrofitting the Normandy after you turned it over to the Alliance."

Chancing a few steps forward, Sam admitted, "There weren't many of us aboard when the Reapers hit." Her tone was equal parts apologetic and sheepish, for she wasn't sure if now was the time to say how sorry she was for her terrible aim in the Shuttle Bay.

The Commander was kindly dismissive, throwing up her hands in reassurance. "Slow down, Specialist Traynor. You're doing fine." Shepard then gestured for Sam to continue, her face absent of emotion.

"Th—thank you. I worked in a lab. I never thought I'd be serving on a ship." _And I never wanted to_, Sam finished inwardly_. It's all so chaotic and messy. Bunking in tight quarters. Never a moment to yourself. Your commanding officer busting your arse for every little thing. Just dreadful._

Red hair bobbed as Shepard nodded toward her cabin's open door, beckoning for Sam to follow. "Why don't you tell me about the retrofits?"

Sam inhaled deeply before exhaling, glad to focus on a subject of which she was intimately familiar and proud. "The ship's in line with Alliance regs now. And it has new, top of the line quantum entanglement communicators. In fact, Admiral Anderson had intended to use the Normandy as his mobile command center." The spaciousness of the captain's cabin was distracting, for Sam realized she'd never actually been in this room. The intercom worked, so there was no need for a comms specialist here.

_A skylight? And look at that aquarium! And that desk! What a gorgeous workspace!_

Shepard crossed her arms and sternly corrected Sam. "That's no longer an option."

"Yes... I—heard he chose to stay and fight," Samantha amended, picking up on the dangerous tone in the SpecTRe's voice. _Focus, Sam_. "In any event: I'm honored to serve under you, Commander." Straightening respectfully, Sam resisted the urge to salute again. …_wait, did I just say "serve under you"? That __**is**__ grammatically correct, right? It just __**sounds**__ like sexual innuendo. …right?_

A chasm of thoughtful silence followed. Which Sam hated. She never knew what to do, so she usually ended up talking. She rushed to fill the space, especially to distract from that whole "serve under you" bit. "...for as long as you need me, that is! They only sent me here to oversee the retrofits."

_Nice job, Sam. Looking for a way out of responsibility already when the galaxy is at war. Your hide is looking a mighty fine shade of yellow this evening. Try committing to bravery for longer than thirty seconds. _

Before Shepard could answer, a tinny female voice sounded over the intercom above. "Shepard, some of our systems require further testing. And Specialist Traynor has been extremely effective during installation. I would prefer that she remain."

Finally reacting, the Commander nodded in agreement. "Got it, EDI."

_Did EDI just come to my rescue? Since when do VIs do that? Or even..._

"Wait, since when does a virtual intelligence make requests?"

"EDI's an AI. Fully self-aware," Shepard stated simply.

_That lying son of a bi—_ "Oh! I knew it! I **knew** Joker was lying!" Sam had to stop herself from pacing in agitation. _All the warning signs were there. Far too helpful and insightful for a simple VI. All that processing power. …can you even __**be**__ betrayed by a robot? Do they stop being things when they know how to think?_

EDI chimed in, a trace of regret in her (_rather human-sounding, now that I think about it_) voice. "Jeff requested that I pretend to be a simple VI to protect myself. I apologize for the deception."

_It—__**she**__ can't help being an AI. She's part of the ship. And she saved us all from the Reapers on Earth. And, if I can believe what Joker says, helped the Commander through a bloody suicide mission to the galactic core. The Normandy needs her. I need her._

"...thanks, EDI. And I apologize for all those times I talked about how—umm—**attractive** your voice was." Sam cleared her throat in minor embarrassment, but EDI did not react. _Do AIs know how to accept apologies? Bloody hell, Traynor, deal with the existential debate of intelligence later. The tour, remember? Datapad? Commanding officer standing there?_

"Anyway, shall I give you a tour? I think you'll be impressed by the new upgrades." Samantha beckoned Shepard over to the datapad, which had a few preprogrammed slides to walk through. She had to resist the urge to start channeling her father, a physics professor at Kastanie Drescher University on Horizon. The man loved to talk.

It wasn't until about halfway through her otherwise practiced speech about the CIC's capabilities did Traynor realize how much Shepard was humoring her right now. _Of course. Of course she knows what the bloody galaxy map does. Switch to something the past and present commanding officer of the Normandy __**doesn't**__ know, you dolt._

Tapping the datapad's edge, the comms specialist shifted the image to a circular room with a large cylinder at the center projecting schematics and holograms. "The War Room houses a strategic command center for mission-specific intel and war analysis." Shepard made an impressed grunting sound.

She tapped the datapad to show a familiar (_embarrassing_) sight: a large room with lockers, stacks of crates, and a short row of consoles set against a UT-47A Kodiak in the background.

"The Shuttle Bay contains an armory where you can modify your equipment between missions, in addition to the armor locker already in your cabin." Glancing around the room again, Samantha wasn't sure where exactly that was located. But Shepard nodded to proceed.

"And finally, Liara has set up a lot of hardware in your old XO's office on Deck 3. I think she's claimed that room," Sam added dryly. That asari may have gotten permission from Admiral Hackett to sign on as a research specialist for the Alliance war effort. But Sam knew that the Crucible Project was being handled through the War Room's servers, while Dr. T'Soni's equipment ran off independent servers.

_With incredibly sophisticated hardware. What the hell is she doing in there that's so secret? Isn't she an archaeologist?_

"And there you are. Still the same ship as before. It just flies Alliance colors now." The datapad chirped and a small pop-up forwarded a comm update, which Sam read aloud. "…Speaking of which, I believe Admiral Hackett would like to speak with you at the vid comm."

Shepard grunted gratitude, but did not follow Sam to the elevator. Sam felt relief as she turned to leave. The flutter in her chest over public speaking started to die down, and she felt a slight glow of self-satisfaction.

_That went well, I think!_

_Except…_

_Did Shepard say I could stay? I mean the VI… AI… __**EDI**__… vouched for me. But Shepard just said "Got it." What does "got it" even mean? Taking it under advisement? Rolling out the welcome mat?_

_Shit._

"Specialist Traynor!"

Hearing Sam's name shouted from down the hall made her realize she never pushed the elevator button to return to the CIC. Jumping with a start, Samantha peeked her head uncertainly around the corner. Shepard was leaning out her own door, a thoughtful expression on her face. Red tresses drifted over her forehead, casting a shadow over those green eyes.

"Commander?"

The eyes crinkled slightly with a smile, but Shepard's lips were still a straight line. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead opted for:

"…I hope you're ready for this."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_Sorry for the delay. Crazy holidays, plus moving shenanigans, and then a busy work cherry on top. Also I'm sick. Just a cavalcade of delights up in here._

_I like the dreary, self-doubting Traynor as a reflection of the opening ME3 mood, but it's time to buck up. _


	4. Reassigned

_601.3.7088.9-D2_

_Lt Traynor, Samantha K  
09/03/2186_

_You are hereby assigned to active duty aboard the SSV Normandy as Senior Communications Specialist.  
Including but not limited to combat and technical duties to be determined by your commanding officer._

_Commanding officer: Staff Cmdr Shepard, Annelise R, SpecTRe  
Executive officer: Lt Cmdr Williams, Ashley M (pending medical evaluation)  
Flight officer: Flight Lt Moreau, Jeffrey D  
Citadel docking bay: D24_

_Report for duty ASAP._

_Adm Mikhailovich, Boris P  
Human Systems Military Alliance_

_Dictated but not read_

* * *

That was it. No pomp. No fanfare. Just an email sent to Sam's inbox.

She wasn't sure why she had expected something slightly more… spectacular. Something with more saluting and "Yes, sir" and walking long hallways full of uniformed officers. Then again, being ferreted into Alliance R&D three years ago had entailed wandering a job fair of sorts outside her academy graduation and signing up at a booth. _Just the sort of gripping scenario they make vids out of, right?_

The vagueness of Samantha's responsibilities was also disappointing. There was no detail whatsoever in what her duties might be. "Including but not limited to" could be anything from trying to hack a Reaper to fetching the Commander's coffee in the morning. And without knowing what Commander Shepard's leadership style even was, Sam had no baseline to assume the best or the worst.

_I won't be a bloody yeoman_, she decided right then and there (after rereading her orders for the 20th time). She'd heard whispers from unhappy specialists on Arcturus and now the Citadel: how some COs treated them like gophers or administrative assistants. Granted, that was the exception more so than the rule. But still an ongoing fear amongst the inactive combat personnel… _to be regarded as less than human because we don't charge down the gangplank, guns blazing. We just give them a ship to come back to, _Samantha vented inwardly about an argument that hadn't even happened.

Chewing her lip, Sam minimized her Omni-tool message window and reached for the last of her (_pointlessly expensive_) tea. Zakera Ward on the Citadel was resolutely ignoring the Reapers. Merchants still peddled celebrity VIs and flashy pistol reproductions with the shameless enthusiasm of longtime hucksters.

And the looming Reaper threat that was quietly strangling the galaxy brought out the worst in people, human and alien alike. Normally inexpensive commodities, like make-up and toiletries, had been marked up to extremes.

Samantha had spent the better part of the morning bickering with merchants over some basic sundries she'd left behind on Earth but didn't want to get at the Alliance quartermaster. She **had** gotten rather spoiled in R&D and on Earth having her own space to herself, as well as her own Things. While there wasn't quite room for a stone chess set in the tiny locker of space Sam was allotted on the Crew Deck, there was no reason why she couldn't have a **few** nice things. That jasmine-scented shampoo she liked, some mascara and lipstick if there was downtime, a proper toothbrush. Her beloved Cision Pro Mark-4, an indulgence Sam had allowed herself for graduation (_let those other girls have skycars or new wardrobes_), was only sold by a surly volus for the exorbitant price of 5,999 credits.

"Supply and demand!" he wheezed, poking at the console with a fat finger. In the end, Samantha just wasn't feeling like a toothbrush (_albeit an incredible one_) was worthy of emptying her meager bank account. Especially after she had stood in the cattle line at the quartermaster for **three hours** to pick up Alliance-issue clothing. _All that suspense for some socks, underwear, casual wear, and a spare uniform. _

The mobilization of the Alliance fleets had soldiers coming out of the woodwork to get equipped for the war effort. It was energizing to be around such enthusiasm to help out, but Sam still felt a touch of depression after a long conversation with a fresh recruit behind her in line. _She didn't see Earth. She hasn't seen the Reapers. She thinks this is exciting. That if we all pitch in and do our part we'll beat them back and have great stories to tell._

Samantha did enjoy the flirty banter at the very least. This particular new addition to the Alliance, Rebecca …_something…_, was a perky blonde from Ferris Fields who wanted to assist with foreign aid. They chatted at length about schools, colonies, and favorite dog breeds. Inadvertently name-dropping the Normandy and Commander Shepard, Sam discovered that both had a polarizing effect on most of the soldiers within earshot. Rebecca Something's big brown eyes got bigger with awe, while the older man in front of Sam in line went off on a conspiracy rant about how Shepard was in cahoots with the Reapers.

After finally retrieving her collection of clothes from the stone-faced matron manning the warehouse, Samantha turned to find Rebecca giggling coquettishly. She handed Sam an information chit and asked her to send her a vid-mail from the glamorous Normandy sometime. And just like that, the girl was gone. Off to report to some slum in the Citadel Wards to pass out supplies to refugees.

_It's nice to feel noticed, at least. Though I'm not sure how to deal with this odd fame I didn't really earn. Isn't it just luck of the draw that I ended up on the Normandy for the retrofits?_

_Well, at least shore leave should be …interesting,_ Samantha thought wickedly as she cast a longing look at Rebecca's retreating backside. _Bloody hell, Traynor. You've been on active duty for what? Five hours? And already you're trolling the Wards for your next furlough to be a dirty sailor? All class, Sam. All class._

Sam shrugged at herself. Just yesterday she had been singing a different tune. The disjointed skeleton crew of the Normandy had finally all gathered in the CIC to discuss their options. ...Well, everyone but Steve Cortez, who had wandered off to the Alliance dock to watch the ships go by, and Joker, who never left his chair anyway. Shepard had returned to Huerta Memorial early to check in on Ashley Williams' condition. Their Commander's elusive presence had not gone unnoticed by her other crew members.

"...what—what do we do now?" Engineer Morena Rashad had asked, wringing her tanned hands. She and Engineer Victor Pierce were like Samantha, just on borrowed time for the retrofits. They didn't serve on warships but rather jumped from dock to dock repairing or upgrading the Alliance's vast fleets.

Specialist Ian Douglas, never without his datapad, huffed in irritation. "Grow a pair already, Rashad. We're at war. They're gonna send us our papers and put us all on active duty. If we're lucky, the brass'll let us stay on the Normandy."

Echoing Douglas, his partner in the heavy weapons bay, Specialist Xander Hertzfeld agreed. "I dunno about you guys, but even with the Cerberus stink all over this ship, the Normandy is still the best ship in the Alliance Navy. Plus if half of what they say about Shepard is true—"

"It is!" Specialist Chen Xian had interjected, his hero-worship of the Commander worn on his sleeve. "She's taken down thresher maws and Collectors and Sovereign and—"

"And yet she still went MIA for two years and the other Normandy got blown to bits. No one is immortal, not even the Great Commander Shepard," Specialist Seth Lucas finished sullenly. "And where does that leave us?"

They all looked at Samantha expectantly, who had somehow become the ringleader over the last few months. It had been a quiet, subtle thing that snuck up on Sam. Mostly due to the fact that the **actual **senior officer of the Normandy, Staff Lieutenant Ventura, was to be the lead comms specialist for the ship. And Samantha had become Ventura's favorite crew member to harass. _Somehow being bullied translated into seniority. They probably think I know something they don't because of all that shit. Won't they be surprised._

Put on the spot, Sam shrugged deeply. She molded the swirling desperation in her chest into attempting to sound diplomatic. "We'll just have to wait for our orders, yea? In the meantime, I'm going to scrub the feeds. In case anyone… wants to call their family."

"Jesus, Traynor, you act like we've already lost," Douglas sneered. Engineer Pierce told Douglas to shut his yap. Emboldened by Pierce's solidarity, Sam stood a little straighter and snapped back. "I'm trying to help, unlike you. Go drown your whiny arse in ryncol in the Wards if you're so inclined to give your mouth something to do. The rest of us have work to do."

Douglas grunted and punched Hertzfeld on the arm, signaling for both men to stomp away out the door. Rashad and Xian quietly asked for Sam to please open those sockets to call their families, while Lucas and Pierce set off for the Alliance embassy to check on their status. They were both gung-ho soldiers who were eager to get their active duty papers and start claiming glory, regardless of ship or berth.

And not for the first time did Sam long for the days on a quiet research lab on a space station far away. Her R&D home seemed to be getting further and further away, while this whole War Thing was looking more and more like it wasn't just a horrid nightmare. It was in danger of becoming the new normal.

…_Well, that could've gone better_, Samantha had sighed. _Hopefully Shepard will have better luck leading this crew than I did… sort of did… didn't. Well, if anything I did could be classified as "leadership." I really should have a chat with Joker about how Shepard is as a CO… after I punch him in the throat for lying to me about EDI. First thing's first, Traynor._

Sam echoed that day-old sigh now while gesturing for the server to refill her cup of tea one last time before she returned to the Normandy. _I'm not jumping into Fate's outstretched hands til I'm damn good and ready. _Her Omni-tool pinged with a Normandy roster update. Apparently, everyone but Victor Pierce and Seth Lucas was assigned (_reassigned?_) to the Normandy, with a dozen additions. A new-old addition was Engineer Adams, another retrofitter for the drive core but who had been summoned to the Citadel when the Reapers hit. _Everyone was probably getting settled and claiming all the good sleeper pods this very moment._

That did it.

Burning her throat from chugging her tea, Samantha slung her bags over her shoulder and sprinted for the nearest taxi station. She was a second too late to snag the cab that had just arrived. That honor belonged to a brunette woman in a miniskirt who was attempting to stuff an overflowing footlocker into the passenger seat.

Sam had to count down from ten before her OCD kicked in.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

Yanking the metal luggage out of the woman's hands, Sam grumbled a response, "You're doing it wrong. Let me." She proceeded to lay the trunk down and point at the crumpled clothes spilling over the top. "Didn't your mother teach you how to pack properly? I've seen hanar fold laundry better, and they don't even wear clothes."

The woman huffed in irritation. "Didn't your mother teach you not to touch other people's stuff?" They crossed their arms and glared at each other a moment.

Suddenly, the other woman laughed. "All right, sailor. It looks like we're both in a hurry. Tell you what: you help me get this shit into the cab, I'll even let you share a ride. I'm expensing the damn thing anyway, so no skin off my ass." She offered a well-manicured hand to seal the deal.

"So, I get to do all your work for you, and then get the cab I should have gotten anyway?" Samantha raised her eyebrows skeptically, but couldn't fake anger for long. She smirked and slapped the woman's right palm in a brief handshake. For a moment, she considered piling her bags into the cab first. _It __**would**__ be the most efficient use of the trunk space. _But frankly, Sam couldn't trust this ditz not to drive off with all her stuff.

Upending the trunk, Samantha's fingers flew in practiced motions. Smoothing. Tucking. Folding. One item after another. _My my, someone is carrying a great deal of lacy undergarments. _Under less irritating circumstances, Samantha might have been tempted to strike up a flirty conversation. But something about this woman rubbed her the wrong way. _Maybe because her entire wardrobe is low-cut blouses and miniskirts. And she reminds me of Isabella. Like she did this on purpose to be the center of attention._

Sam swallowed the painful lump in her throat and straightened. She closed the lid of the trunk with a satisfied thud. "There, Princess Packs-Like-Shit. All your crap, in neat stacks, with room to spare. Can we go? I'm shipping out soon. I'd prefer they not leave without me. I don't fancy sleeping on a bench for God-knows-how-long until they make port again. Or will you expense that, too?"

The woman's gray-blue eyes twinkled. She beckoned Sam to join her in the skycar, where Sam piled her dufflebags around her feet. "I like your moxy, sailor. Where you headed?" Her fingers fiddled with the holo interface as she slid a credit chit over the meter.

"Alliance dock, D terminal. Gate 24," Sam replied.

"You're shitting me."

"Not at the moment, no. If you're actually a kidnapper, I reserve the right to change that."

The woman laughed, almost identical to the noise she'd made earlier. It was throaty, bordering on a scoff. "Someone has a strange sense of humor. …Me too."

"'You too' what?"

"I mean, me too going to D24. You're on the Normandy, right? With Commander Shepard?"

Sam gave the woman a sidelong look as the skycar raised up and began to speed toward its destination several wards away. She wasn't a soldier. Not in a tank top, miniskirt, and stilettos. Her face was contoured. Molded cheekbones. Heavy eye make-up. She had a cocky but also sleepy demeanor.

_Please don't tell me Shepard picked up a prostitute._

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, the woman offered that right hand to Samantha again. But in a friendlier way this time. "Diana Allers, Alliance News Network."

_Oh, son of a bi—_

"Specialist Samantha Traynor," she replied, shaking the hand briskly. Sam had briefly pondered adding in "Lieutenant" but it just sounded unfamiliar and weird.

"Have you heard of my show? Battlespace?" Diana asked lightly. It was a well-rehearsed question she'd asked a thousand times. And it showed.

Sam thought a minute. Most of her ANN viewing was background noise to her morning routine. Emily Wong did the hard-hitting segments, and the morning show anchors were a pair of older gentlemen whose names Samantha couldn't remember. Chen Xian would probably know in a heartbeat. Her fellow comms specialist was addicted to the ANN. "I don't think so, no."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, just most people would answer instantly. And usually lie."

"I'm not most people."

That twinkle in her eye again. "I noticed. So, what do you know about Commander Shepard? First human SpecTRe. Killer of Collectors and savior of colonies, all from tragically humble beginnings on Earth. Her history reads like a bad romance novel heroine."

"Dreadfully little. If you were hoping for some glorious inside scoop, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. The first time I met Shepard was when Earth was invaded by Reapers. We didn't exactly throw a getting-to-know-you slumber party," Sam quipped, ignoring Aller's side commentary.

Chuckling, Diana drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. The holo interface chirped as it neared its destination at the Alliance docking bay. "That's a shame. I know some paparazzi who woulda paid big credits to be a fly on the wall for **that**. Not me, though. My sensationalist BS days are long behind me. I'm looking forward to broadcasting Battlespace from the Normandy. Maybe win a few awards when this thing is over."

_And there she goes again. Making the conversation about her._ Samantha sighed, "Tempting, Miss Allers. But I never kiss and tell. Fair warning, though. I'm the communications specialist for the Normandy. So if you behave yourself, maybe I won't accidentally transmit your broadcasts into blackholes."

Allers' grin was predatory. "Of all the wards in all the Citadel, you walk into mine. Small world, Traynor."

"I think you mean 'small **galaxy**,' Allers**.**" _  
_

"And getting smaller, Traynor. By the minute. That's what we have to put a stop to."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_While being sick doesn't help my job any, at least I have time to write, neh?_

_I liked the idea of Sam as sort of an unofficial leader of the crew, if anything else as a deterrent from pigeonholing her into a quiet, wallflower role on the Normandy. The game genuinely felt like Sam was involved/invested in a lot of the crew member's lives, and not in the psychological/hidden agenda way that Kelly Chambers was in ME2._

_And a personal goal of this piece is to make Diana Allers a likeable character. I am not a fan of what she and Jessica Chobot represented in the world of gaming, but Sam's banter with Allers aboard the Normandy was pretty awesome, and they had a genuine kinship over being colony kids. But in the meantime, I figured I'd lay in some of the derogatory things I'm sure many of us thought about Allers. It's therapeutic that way._


	5. Small Talk

Lowering her palm, Samantha Traynor whipped it up in a smooth motion. It connected with the back of Joker's head, knocking his SR2 cap clean off his head.

_Two points!_

"Hey! What the shit, Traynor?" Joker squawked as he lurched forward in his chair. He fumbled to right the hat over his messy swath of red hair. "I'm just, oh I don't know, flying the damn ship that keeps us alive? Are you **trying** to land us ass-first in a supernova?"

Sam sniffed disdainfully, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh cry me a river, you big baby. That's for lying to me about EDI."

Joker finished swiping across the pilot interface to correct their flight path to Menae before turning his chair. "Yea, well… I didn't know if I could trust you. I already had two Alliance cheerleaders up my ass about working with Cerberus." He stuck a thumb out at Private Sarah Campbell, who had taken a break from security duty for the war room to mingle with one of the handsome new ensigns. Her "cheerleader" in crime, Private Bethany Westmoreland, was probably reading a datapad about Illium fashions at her post.

Samantha just smirked. "Well, you should have known better. And you wouldn't even have a ship to fly if it weren't for EDI and I going over the systems with a fine tooth comb. Isn't that right, EDI?"

"I appreciate your open-mindedness, Specialist Traynor. And you are correct. The system overhaul you implemented has increased my processing power by 7.3% and reduced redundancies by 3.8% in several key areas. These efficiencies translate to improvements in handling and drive core expulsion rates," EDI chimed in overhead while Joker snarked a thank-you about passing the savings on to him.

"Well, in my defense, a lot of those 'redundancies' were firewalls and security parameters leftover from your shackling. Cerberus certainly knew how to build a cage."

There was a pause, before EDI thoughtfully responded. "Indeed, Specialist Traynor. Are you saying you were aware of my deception but chose to remain silent?"

Shrugging, Sam sat down in the co-pilot's chair to bring up a pair of screens. Joker grumbled that that seat was taken. "Oh hush. And …I had a hunch, EDI. Things just weren't adding up, though there were other possibilities, or excuses, for all those security protocols. But I guess it's just human nature to only see what we want to see. Even when we do know better."

"It is human nature to ignore what you know is true despite evidence to the contrary?"

Samantha laughed. "I should tell you about being in love sometime. Or about religion."

"I would like that, Specialist Traynor." Sam had meant it more as a throwaway joke, but there was something impossibly endearing about EDI. _And that sexy voice… Shut it, Traynor. _Checking the QEC protocols one more time and a long list of to-dos, Samantha got up to finally start her shift.

Travel days aboard a ship were disorienting, because Day and Night had pretty much ceased to exist. Switching to Galactic Standard Time meant longer shifts and rotating sleeper pod schedules and all these rigid routines she wasn't used to yet.

There was a nice energy to being in space, though. _The camaraderie, for one. New faces and new friends to make. Granted, it could end up like a catty college dormitory_, but there was still that getting-to-know-you hesitation where everyone was initially kind and polite. _I hope it lasts._

_And I hope there's an entire storage bay of stim packs. Because my morning tea is going to need a pick-me-up and a half to get through this mountain of intel reports._

Walking through the bow of the Normandy, Sam asked, "So EDI, does your coming out party mean you'll be dumping some of those irritating VI habits? Y'know, since you're not bound by such simple runtimes being a higher intelligence and all?"

"Can you be more specific, Specialist Traynor? Irritation is relative." Joker shouted something obscene in response, but Samantha couldn't hear what it was. She gestured at the airlock. "The punch card, for one. Announcing to the universe who is on and off duty."

EDI's reply was deadpan. "I find it easier to maintain complete control of my humans when I know exactly where they are at all times."

A pause.

"That was a joke."

Stopping dead in her tracks, Samantha slowly turned around to look down the bow corridor. Joker had also rotated in his seat to exchange an uncertain look with Sam. "You scare me sometimes, EDI," Joker finally responded.

Opting to accept the joke at face value (_rather than be terrified of what would happen if EDI was serious), _Samantha teased back, "I'll send you a list of things about you to change, EDI. Or I can make Joker do it as an intro to the undoubtedly many years of couples' therapy you two are going to need." She ducked down the hallway out of earshot just as EDI and Joker started an argument over what that meant.

As Sam entered the CIC, she spotted Commander Shepard in casual attire conversing with several of the new crewmembers on the port side of the room. They started to salute, but Shepard waved them off.

_Huh. Informal. That's good to know._

"Traynor!" Private Campbell beckoned Samantha over to a starboard-side console with one of the two steaming mugs in her hands. _Please tell me that's tea. Or coffee. Or caffeine molecules in liquid form._

Smiling kindly, Samantha walked over and accepted the cup. _Coffee then_. Campbell was still leaning against the wall trying to talk to Ensign _…Marcus? Matthews? Something with an M._

"Ensign Maxwell here…" _Maxwell! That's it!_ "…was just saying he was serving with the SSV Perugia on the Battle of the Citadel." Sarah shot a look at Sam that begged: _Please help me!_

Not knowing what she needed help with, Samantha offered a noncommittal "Oh yea?"

The darkly tanned soldier was too busy swiping through navigation charts to respond right away. When he finally did, Samantha could understand where the trouble lie: he was positively dull. "Yea. I did navigation there, too."

Cocking an eyebrow at Campbell, Samantha took a sip from her mug and nearly gagged. _God, it's like liquid varren shit. _She coughed slightly but gave Sarah a grateful smile. _If she somehow snags this brilliant conversationalist, the relationship is over the second he tries her coffee. God._

Caffeine addiction took over, however, forcing Sam to muscle through the taste at the expense of her tongue on behalf of her half-asleep brain cells. "Were you part of the strike force helping save the Destiny Ascension? I heard the Fifth Fleet took down almost a thousand geth ships that day."

"No."

_Well, I'm out._ Samantha shook her head at Campbell. "All right then. Brilliant meeting you, Ensign Maxwell. I'm the Comms Specialist for the Normandy, so if you need anything, I'll be stationed at the console by the galaxy map."

"Okay."

Waving the mug at Campbell in acknowledgement, Samantha continued sipping as she made her way over to her work station. Specialist Chen Xian nodded sleepily as he logged off, happy to finally get relieved of duty. He stole her mug as he turned to the elevator, and Sam smirked when she heard his disgusted sputter.

"Ugh! Traynor! Not cool!" He gurgled while tapping the button for the crew deck. Sam just shrugged. "That'll teach you to steal my stuff, Xian. Get your own bloody coffee next time." Xian mumbled about being off for the next eight hours and to not blow up the ship while he slept. Samantha promised nothing.

Running her tongue along her teeth, Sam grumbled as she fired up her console. _God, this instant coffee tastes like arse. I can feel it seeping into my teeth and taste buds. The next person who talks to me will probably need medical attention from the sheer foulness of my breath._

"Specialist Traynor. Got a second?"

…_you've got to be __**kidding**__ me._

Swallowing deeply a few times, Sam frantically tried to clear the taste from her mouth before turning around. "Commander? Come to check on your new recruit?" _Breathe through your nose. Breathe through your nose. Breathe through your nose._

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," Shepard agreed with a nod, though her voice had a touch of boredom.

Sam took that as permission to be informal. "Still trying to get my bearings. When I was working on the Normandy's upgrades, I left at the end of the day." _Now going home is going down a deck to crash in a bed someone else sleeps in. At least Arcturus had dormitories._

"I didn't even have a toothbrush or a change of clothing until I made some emergency purchases on the Citadel," Samantha added, though she made a fake cough in order to shield her mouth (and breath) from Shepard.

The Commander was concerned. "Next time you need something, just ask. You're not alone here."

"Oh—it's—it's no trouble," Samantha backpedaled hastily. _Bloody hell, I sound like I'm complaining. Again. People are dying and I'm bitching about a toothbrush._ "I'm sure you have larger concerns."

"We can put in a requisition order," Shepard shrugged as she fired up her Omni-tool. Sam could just barely read the reverse image on the transparent, orange screen of the official Alliance requisition database.

"My toothbrush is a Cision Pro Mark-4. It uses tiny mass effect fields break up plaque and massage the gums." Cupping her hand over her mouth conspiratorially, Sam added with a whisper, "It cost six thousand credits."

The Omni-tool wrist dropped immediately as the screen quickly closed. Scoffing, Shepard crossed her arms and leaned back. A smile tugged at her mouth. "...Okayyy. Yea. You're on your own with that."

"What?" Sam asked, feigning hurt. "Are you putting a price on these pearly whites, Commander?" Her mouth flashed open in an exaggerated, cheesy grin. "Good communication starts with healthy gums, you know." Shepard didn't respond, but the smile grew into an amused exhale through her nose.

"In any event, I appreciate you giving me the chance to stay." An awkward pause, but Shepard didn't make a move to leave or continue the conversation. "Was there anything else?" Samantha prodded, hoping to end the conversation so she could duck into the ladies' room for some alone time with her shitty off-brand toothbrush.

Shepard's tone changed gruffly, which took Sam aback. "I'm surprised you're worrying about a toothbrush. We've got bigger problems right now."

"Oh, believe me: seeing the Reapers on Earth was terrifying. But I won't help anybody by bursting into tears here in the CIC, will I?" Shepard seemed satisfied with that answer. _Was that a test?_ "Being here on the Normandy helps. If anyone in the galaxy can stop the Reapers, it's you. And if flagging your messages and managing strategic intel helps you in any way, then it's worth it," Samantha added. _It's about time I acted grateful to be here. Because I am. _

"Where are you from, originally?"

Sam evaded the question, as she wasn't quite ready to discuss Horizon with the woman who had saved it just yet. _That's …a big topic. Plus I haven't heard from Dad or Mum in the past couple days._ She crossed her arms. "A colony out in the Terminus systems, actually. Though I studied on Earth. At Oxford."

Head tilting curiously, Shepard nodded for Samantha to continue.

"My parents were from London. They loved Earth, but they wanted the freedom a colony life could offer." A dark thought touched Sam's mind, brought to light by Shepard's severe tone about bigger problems. _London… Dad said the Reapers hit there first. If we—if they were…_ "If they'd stayed in London, I imagine they'd be dead right now..." Sam wasn't sure how she subdued the emotion in her voice.

"A lot of people back on Earth are still alive, and counting on us," Shepard asserted calmly. While the Commander's pep talk lacked any manner of cozy warmth, she at least gave the impression that there was still hope.

Sam agreed. _Quite true._

"So, Traynor. How'd you end up in the military anyway?"

Sam wasn't certain how exactly to gauge a question like that. On the one hand, it could just be polite interest. On the other: a windup to questioning Sam's military qualifications. _Or lack thereof? Is she trying to say I missed my calling? Maybe as a marksman or taxi driver or stripper?_

…_Oh balls, you're taking too long to answer. Just tell the bloody truth. Isn't the truth all we really have left at a time like this?_

Leaning back against her console, Samantha hugged her arms to her chest a little defensively. But if what Allers had said about Shepard's humble origins on Earth, maybe (_just maybe_) the Commander could relate. _I really need to watch that damn ANN profile about Shepard. I hardly know anything about the woman in charge of my life._

…_in __**charge**__, Traynor? …shut up. You know what I meant._

"My family didn't have money for university." _A volunteer nurse at a free clinic and a physics professor aren't exactly rubbing elbows with the Bekenstein new money elite._ "When the Alliance saw my aptitude scores, they offered me a full scholarship. I served my required years after graduation and decided to stay. I really liked the challenges of the lab."

It had been a long time since Sam had thought about her graduation. She had knuckled down and gotten out in three years with a nice summa cum laude in Applied Communications and a minor in Quantum Entanglement Theory. Only six months ago had Samantha decided to make Alliance R&D a permanent home.

_Right around the time Commander Shepard had come back from the dead to wage a war against Reapers. …and before that, Collectors while I was home on furlough._

Once again, Sam felt the need to backpedal on her words. _I really need to stop feeling like I have to apologize for perceived cowardice. It's exhausting. _

_If only Commander bloody Shepard wasn't staring like that at me. Like she sees through me._ Grinning sheepishly, Samantha added, "Although, I'm sure I'll grow to love front-line service as well!"

Shepard didn't say anything for a moment, and Sam worried she'd said the wrong thing. So far, she simply did not understand the Commander. Most of Samantha's conversational aces up her sleeve worked on people. _Joking at my own expense. Polite small talk. Cheeky observations. Genuine concern._ But Shepard was either immune to all of them, or reacted oppositely to what Sam intended.

Suddenly, Shepard did that squinty-eye thing. Where she was almost smiling, but not quite. "You're going to have to learn to shoot with your eyes open before I put you on the front lines, Traynor."

_A joke. From Commander Shepard._ Samantha glanced around to see if anyone else had heard it, or knew if it was a common occurrence. But no, just Sam. She was partially relieved Shepard remembered her, but partially squeamish that **that** was her legacy.

_Do I apologize? Or play it off?_ There was a curious gleam in Shepard's green eyes. Sort of intense and defiant.

_All right. I'll play._

"Oh, my deadliness with a pistol is legendary, Commander Shepard. I was just testing your reflexes. You always have to keep an eye on us quiet ones. It's a hallmark, really."

"A hallmark."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Of your deadliness."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Shooting with your eyes closed is a hallmark of deadliness."

"I'm starting to hear an echo, Commander Shepard, and I'm afraid it's just not quite as attractive as mine."

"Or deadly."

"Exactly."

Shepard's lips tightened, almost appreciatively. She nodded four times, slowly at first, then faster. Without another word, the Commander headed off to the war room security door. Samantha turned back to her console and brought up the QEC feeds she was supposed to be analyzing.

And smiled to herself.

_Now, __**that**__ test I passed._

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_While most of Shepard and Sam's conversations happen pretty much at a desk in the CIC, I will be breaking from that formula. I love the canon dialogue, but c'mon. The CIC is a pretty boring location. _

_It occurs to me that I've been a bit coy with my Shepard other than her appearance (which is the default ME3 look. Which I LOVED. I voted for that redhead so fast). I'll get some of her background and history out in the open before the rest of the crew starts to trickle in from missions. But it'll still be a slow reveal, because I like the idea that Sam has to get to know Shepard, especially from a completely ignorant standpoint. But Shep's longtime friends will also have lovely color to add to the party.  
_


	6. Background

**Ren's First Note:  
**_I've done a global edit to this fic to correct an inconsistency that I just discovered. While I admit I am horrendously overdue an update, I have been watching/listening to YouTube videos of the Sam Experience to stay in the mindset. I also watched a few other romances (which is a great way to know details about characters you don't normally hear/have the time to play through yourself) and saw I omitted a very important detail: Steve Cortez was on the Normandy when it left Earth. Because he didn't fly the Kodiak on Mars, I got confused and forgetful. Doesn't change the plot, but at least it's relatively accurate now._

* * *

"Look, if you're going to hang out, at least stop whining."

Diana Allers sighed at her guest, who had dramatically flopped on to her bed seven minutes ago.

"I do not **whine. **I am articulating mild displeasure. A seasoned reporter should be able to distinguish the nuances of difference between the two," Samantha Traynor clarified before sitting up.

_I still can't believe the rest of the Normandy crew shares sleeper pods while Princess Diana here gets a palace of a room in Engineering. Maybe I should start wearing miniskirts to my shift, too._

Sighing again, Allers swiveled back to her pair of vid screens at her desk. She was trying to splice together several audio files of some de-classified documents that Commander Shepard had passed on. Her first report from the SSV Normandy was going to be an inspirational rallying cry.

If she could finish the damn thing.

Not turning around this time, Allers waved a hand at the console next to her. "Well, then make yourself useful. When this is done, I want it broadcast to every ANN receiver in the galaxy."

"Only if you feign disinterest at my plight," Sam demanded as she hoisted herself up and tapped away at the private terminal on the desk. _Having trouble with our QEC parameters, Miss Allers? Good, that's because I layered the encryptions. Nothing gets broadcast outside this ship without my say so._

Allers' tone was bored. "So continue what I've been doing: got it. Proceed."

"…what am I **supposed** to read into this? I'm the bloody Senior Comms Specialist. And Xian gets the first combat mission and I'm sidelined?!" Despite the fact Samantha was supposed to be sleeping, her Omni-tool had feeds from Menae ticking by. She was also mentally critiquing Xian's performance for dealing with the turian comms protocols to sync up the ground team.

_You're supposed to place that filter after secondary confirmation… no, dammit. Gah. Now you have to start over, because too many pings to the array will force a soft restart and you'll lose about six seconds of feed. _

Diana wasn't the coddling, sympathetic sort. She hated girl talk sessions where she was supposed to agree with whatever the other person was saying, no matter how stupid or illogical. "I think you're supposed to say to yourself: 'This is a military ship and I'm off-duty.' Or, try something new and different. 'I can't be on every mission every time.' That would be incredible, too." Her impression of Sam was overly high and exaggerated, with a few old fashioned "wot wots" thrown in.

"I do **not** sound like that. Your impression is borderline racism," Samantha growled, but she couldn't help but chuckle. As much as she hated to admit it, Allers **was** right. _But not about the "wot wot." No one says that anymore, especially me._

It had been a hit to the gut when Sam saw the shift roster on the approach to Palaven. Especially after all the research she'd done on compatibility with turian protocols to sync up the Normandy's war room. Working her ass off only to be pulled from duty wasn't something Samantha was used to... Plus, part of her thought her growing rapport with the Commander would pay off.

Allers was still focused on her edits, and marked down the time stamp of the clip to splice in her recorded report before continuing. "What's your real problem, Traynor? You didn't strike me as the petty, bitchy sort. I'm giving you a generous, ten-second window of my undivided attention and caring to explain yourself. Then I have to finish this segment. Go."

Turning in her chair, Diana folded her hands into her lap. Her expression was expectant, but, oddly enough, not sarcastic. She appeared genuinely interested in what Samantha could say, which actually took Sam aback for a moment.

_Huh. Maybe she's not the climb-the-ladder-at-all-costs harpy I took her for._

"Eight seconds."

_Shit._

"So, I'm the ranking Comms Specialist on the Normandy."

"And?"

"And I have more knowledge on turian-human QEC integration than Xian does. Hands down."

"Do you have combat experience?"

"What? No, but I—"

"Does he?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Could that possibly be the oh-so-critical detail you're missing in this pity party scenario?"

"Uhhh..." was all Samantha could manage. _Could that be the only reason? I mean... It's not that I didn't __**see**__ it, I just hate (love?) the idea that it could be that simple. Xian's not better than me, or replacing me, he just has more experience and was a safer bet for the first mission._

_The next mission, though… I'm going to kick its arse sideways. No more sidelining for this girl._

Diana turned back to her desk, with a very unsubtle toss of her hair. "Knowing that and coming to terms with that are very different things, though. If you need me to tell you something **else** you already know, lemme know. And I need to send this to my editor for approval. Be a dear and plug in these coordinates."

"I suppose your non-advice is worth some semblance of charity on my part," Sam grudgingly admitted. Slinging the download Allers provided into the QEC ether, Sam finished encrypting the file. _And… done. Let's see Xian re-encrypt a vid-file for the smoothest relay delivery. So fast, it's practically in real time. You're welcome, "Monahan, Erika E, Sr Editor." _

She started to get up to leave, before Sam's knees unceremoniously buckled at her next idea. "Allers. Do you have access to the ANN archives?"

"Within reason," Diana replied.

"What about the old Profiles in Courage? Can you dig up the one on Shepard?"

Smiling widely, Diana took on a flirty tone. "Ohhh... Doing some 'research' on your CO?" Her manicured fingers curled to make air quotes.

"Shut it, Allers. I don't know anything about Commander Shepard, actually. Where better to look than my employer's very own propaganda machine?" _I'm also too lazy to look myself, and the last thing I need on my extranet browser history is a bunch of bookmarks about Commander Shepard. Even porn would be less embarrassing to be found by Alliance scrubber programs. …Or EDI. _

"Hmph." Diana snorted at the crack about her job being propaganda. "Well, you're in luck, Traynor. Hit the jackpot, really. I interned at the ANN right out of high school. First job? Re-editing all the damn PICs to fit different marketing segments."

"That sounds bloody boring, actually."

"Tell me about it. 'Hype the background for human interest segments between broadcasts.' 'We need more hero pieces, recruitment needs a boost.' 'Did you get Temmi's best side?'" Her impression cycled between a low-pitched, air headed, and angry inflection.

"Temmi?" Sam asked.

"Artemis Kingston. She's the lead foreign relations correspondent for the Terminus now." Diana leaned back in her chair. "She's also an insufferable bitch. I pity whatever Alliance ship got stuck with her and her entourage for the war effort. But, just like the rest of us, she had to start somewhere. And that somewhere was the ANN's pride and joy: Profiles in Courage."

Stretching briefly, Allers rummaged around her messy desk (_how many datapads does one woman need?)_ until she found a couple of data chits. She stood up and tossed one to Sam. "I'm starving. I'm gonna go hit up the mess. What're the odds they have good vegetarian up in there?"

Allers straightened her skirt before heading for the door. "That one has all the PIC segments I had to edit, plus the uncut original. Go to town, Traynor. But no sleeping on my bed. Unless you plan on buying me dinner first." With a wink, she was gone.

_Not a chance in hell, Allers, _Samantha smirked. But Diana's generosity was surprising. She seemed completely unworried that Sam might steal, vandalize or otherwise disturb her stuff. …_Assuming anyone could figure out what any of this shit is, _Samantha amended when she poked at the first stack of random datapads on the desk.

_Vid first, rummage through Diana's shit later._

* * *

_Production Notes:  
_[ANN original recording: _Shepard, A R,_ November 9, 2176]  
[ANN original broadcast: _Profile in Courage: Annelise Shepard,_ March 6, 2177]  
[ANN edited broadcast: _Heroes of the Blitz and Beyond re: Annelise Shepard,_ July 17, 2180]  
[ANN edited broadcast: _Remembering Courage: Annelise Shepard,_ April 29, 2183]  
[ANN edited broadcast: _The Life and Controversy of Annelise Shepard,_ December 12, 2185]

[Begin Playback of Recording: "_Shepard, A R"_]

"'Sometimes, to be the best soldier, you have to listen to the orders your commanding officer doesn't give.'"

It wasn't Shepard's voice, but that of a serious blonde woman in a crisp suit. "Not advice you often hear from our men and women in blue. But it is this very advice that propelled a once average colony in the Terminus to the top of the feeds. As well as earned a once average marine the highest honor in the Alliance Navy: the Star of Terra.

"This is Artemis Kingston reporting. And sitting with us today is a woman known to many as the hero of Elysium. To the Alliance, she is Staff Lieutenant Annelise Shepard."

The view swung to a younger Shepard. Dressed in crisp Alliance blues, her formerly loose red hair was smoothed back in a tight bun. She was distracted by the camera and kept looking at something just above the view off screen. It was several long seconds before Shepard realized she'd been spoken to.

"Oh, shit. Is this where I'm supposed to say something? Thanks for having me? I'm honored to be here? The producer was talking kinda fast," Shepard apologized sheepishly. The whole thing appeared to embarrass her. She blinked uncertainly at the bright spotlights around her.

Artemis was quietly patient and insistent. "Just do whatever feels comfortable. We'll edit it in post later. You can say hello, or just smile and nod, or not do anything."

Shepard settled on a curt nod.

"Now, we'll talk about what happened on Elysium in a bit, but I wanted to take the time to get to know **you**, Lieutenant. May I call you Annelise?" Artemis tapped a datapad stylus to her chin thoughtfully, though Sam suspected the reporter wasn't taking any notes.

"No. Shepard. Unless I can call you Temmi," the young Commander corrected. There were several chuckles off camera. Artemis turned slightly red. _Is that how the reporter got that nickname? Turning that into an in-joke seems like something Allers would do. …I would too, if she's the bitch Allers claims she is._

"Shepard it is, then. Now, what was it like growing up on Earth?" It was a boring, open-ended question intended to get the interviewee spinning on a charming childhood tale.

Shepard scratched her chin for a second before answering. "Do you want a bullshit answer, or a real answer?"

Refusing to let Shepard rattle her, Artemis smiled sweetly. "Here at the ANN we just want the truth."

The young Commander leaned back in her chair. Her expression was pinched, but she finally responded. "Some of it was okay, and some of it sucked." A deliberate pause. "…I wasn't supposed to be born on Earth, though."

"Tell me about it," Kingston pressed gently.

"Well, I was supposed to be on Terra Nova, living some different life. My family was moving to the colony to be closer to my dad's family. That was before the accident, though." Shepard spoke nearly in a monotone, but Sam recognized a twinkle in her eye. _Is she playing to the crowd? Building suspense?_

The reporter was pleased, though still professional. "What accident was that, Marine?"

"Everyone knows about Singapore," Shepard said with a hand wave.

…_Singapore? _Sam had to think for a second.

_Traynor, you bloody idiot: the ship accident? Widespread eezo contamination? Sort of famous since it sort of created human biotics?_

_Oh, __**that**__ Singapore. Why didn't you say so?_

"But not everyone knew about Atlanta. Or Copenhagen. Lima. Jakarta. My dad and brother were heading to Terra Nova while my mother was pregnant with me back on Earth. There was some sort of industrial accident along the highway with a transport hauling unprocessed drive cores. My mother wasn't even involved in the accident, but the eezo dust cloud covered a quarter mile stretch."

Artemis asked something inane like "And then what happened?"

Shepard balled up a bright, glowing fist. "I was born four months later, diagnosed with 'moderate element zero nodular neoplasia.' Mother got full-blown cancer and wasn't the same. She stuck it out for a couple years but treatment got too expensive. And Conatix wasn't paying eezo accident reparations in those days, since the Alliance hadn't stepped in yet. We were on our own."

A producer off-camera mumbled about editing out that Conatix part.

"What sort of life do you think you would have had on Terra Nova, Shepard?"

Scoffing lightly, Shepard's head dipped back. A tendril of hair from her bun worked loose. "I don't really think about it. I'd probably be worse off, actually. The other Shepards were pieces of crap. All Terra Firma rednecks who'd sooner shoot a turian than look at one. I'd probably be polishing a rifle on a pre-fab porch or working on my third kid. Not my idea of living the dream," she trailed off with a wry smile.

Kingston knew better than to make any disparaging remarks about potential viewers. "Aren't you worried they'll see this?"

"Not really. They hate the Alliance, so the chances of them seeing this are pretty small," Shepard smirked. She sobered quickly and her expression darkened. "They didn't come visit when mom died. Or when dad dragged John and me to Seattle. They never even sent me a birthday present. The one vid-mail I got from them, they made a joke about 'I didn't know they even made redheads anymore!'" Her voice deepened to a thick, accented drawl, followed by a fake laugh.

"Let's talk about your childhood, Shepard," Artemis redirected, though she paused a moment to orient the audience. "Normally, child biotics are identified at an early age and registered with the Alliance for training and credit vouchers for medical care. But Shepard was different."

Shepard's mouth narrowed to a hard line though her voice softened. "Dad wasn't the same after mom died. I was too young to remember her, though he said I look like her. My older brother John practically took care of me. Instead of engineering aquaponics on Terra Nova, Dad had us living in condemned buildings in Seattle. He actually made some really incredible plots where we could grow up to nine different kinds of crops with minimal water and sunlight, on the roof of a building! My dad had an amazing mind… except he gambled and drank and got hooked on red sand."

There was a muted spark of glee in the reporter's eyes, that hunger for juicy drama. Her professionalism was evident in her restraint. "That must have been difficult growing up."

_Bloody hell,_ Sam exhaled. _Commander Shepard was raised as a squatter?_

"Dad was actually worse sober, because then he had time to think. And let his anger boil over about everything. Everyone was to blame for the Shepards' problems. The Alliance failed. Conatix fucked us over. Government. Corporations. Big cities. They were all what was wrong with humanity. He quietly resented me, too, for what happened to mom. BAaT was out of the question because it was run by Conatix, so I had to figure my biotics out on my own. Thank God John had his head on straight. He was an amazing big brother. He enrolled us in school and kept us fed and worked as a courier so we had credits for clothes and stuff."

"You use past tense when talking about your father and brother," Artemis observed. "Where are they now?"

Shepard's cheek twitched. Her entire face seemed to tighten on itself. "Gone. Dad was bombed in some red sand den when John died. It happened outside that shithole, too. John had gone in there to convince Dad to come home, but he wouldn't budge. Stubborn bastard. Then John got a message on his Omni-tool about picking up a delivery a block away."

"Where were you?"

"Just getting out of school like seven blocks away. I was walking with… what was her name?" Another sliver of red hair came loose as Shepard's head swung to the side. She stared intently at the ground for a moment before snapping her fingers. "Lindsey Devereaux! Lindsey and I would play in the basement of my building a couple days a week. I got a ping on my communicator from John. He was mugged. Stabbed in the stomach for his shoes and a couple of lousy credits."

Sam didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she finally had to let it out. _Oh… oh god._

Clearing her throat, Shepard's voice dropped. "I'll never forget what he sounded like. Scared. It scared me. He didn't call Dad from the side of the road, instead he called **me** first. I've never run faster in my life. I think I did a biotic charge the entire time. Practically went through a bus that stopped in front of me. He was dead by the time I got there. Dad was holding him and shouting at the med team that had arrived. Yet another organization that had failed the Shepard family."

Artemis softly asked, "How old was your brother?"

"15. He had been working himself up to ask a girl out and never got the chance. He wanted to enlist and be a soldier and help people. He loved reading about knights and dragons. I was 13. And Dad didn't know what to do with himself. Or me. He blamed the sand for John and quit, but the withdrawal made him even more unstable."

When talking about her brother, Shepard was almost hushed, but the topic of her father was the complete opposite. She was bored, annoyed, unsympathetic.

"The city was long overdue in evicting us from the building, which was finally scheduled for demolition. I didn't care, I wanted to be out of that place anyway. Too many reminders of John. But Dad refused. Something about the government had taken everything from him, but not one thing more. He started a fire, but couldn't control it. He trapped himself inside. I was walking back from Lindsey's when I saw the flames. I didn't go to him, though. I ran away from it."

Shifting her datapad, Artemis gently prodded. "Where did you go?"

_Why do I get the feeling it gets worse? _Samantha dreaded. Shepard's expression was back to a neutral mask.

"Everyone thought I was dead. I didn't know what to do. As much as I hated my dad's crazy conspiracy bullshit, I was too young to think it wasn't true. I was afraid to go to the government or the police. For a little while I was sleeping on benches, stealing from dumpsters and bathing in fountains until some rent-a-cop spotted me and I had to run again. Then I met Andy."

Shepard's lip curled slightly at the corner. _What does that face mean? It almost looks like… glee. Pleasure? ...attraction._

A little tremor creeped below (_inside?)_ Samantha's heart, stealing a breath of air from her lungs. It was disorienting for half a second with a tight pressure. But then it was gone. She couldn't remember feeling something like that before.

_Traynor. Are you …disappointed?_

"We were both trying to steal the same stack of protein bars from a street vendor. Neither of us got it," Shepard's grin widened. "Andy and I pinched an entire case of dense nutrient bars from a store a little later and became best friends. The streets were as good a home as any. Pull your weight, you can have a warm bed and a hot meal. But she was the first person, other than my brother, to see my biotics and not call me a freak."

_She. Andy was a girl. _

No tremor this time.

A mumble sounded off-camera, which turned Artemis' head for a moment. "My producer is asking to tread lightly on this topic. Your juvenile records are sealed so I can't ask you any direct questions. It's also not common practice to celebrate someone with a possible criminal record."

Snorting slightly, Shepard let a fleeting expression of amusement escape her stoic face. "Yea, wouldn't want everyone to think their great 'hero' beat up nuns and stole bread from starving orphans, huh?" She paused to stare directly into the camera. Impossibly serious, Shepard intoned, "Children. If you want to get a medal, all you have to do is be a really good criminal, get noticed by the government, and then profit."

The vid suddenly cut out and the timestamp jumped 14 minutes. Shepard's loose hair was back into place and she seemed more irritable than ever. A young brunette makeup artist with a pair of large round brushes scurried off set while Artemis fluffed her hair. _Took a break to get pretty, hmm?_

An older man with a moustache stood next to Kingston. Her mic barely picked up on his muttering about all the edits this was going to need in post and to get better soundbytes. He backed out of the shot and Artemis resumed her interview. "Let's talk about what made you join the Alliance."

"Puberty for a biotic is a bitch," Shepard continued with a sigh. That slightly monotone voice again. "Not only are you a regular crazy teenage girl, but making crap float in your sleep or punching through walls when you're angry tends to scare people. By that point, BAaT was already shut down and they just commissioned Grissom Academy last month, so there weren't many biotic outlets for human kids other than the military. Conatix's long history of propaganda saw to it that biotics were second-class citizens, too."

A man's throat cleared loudly in the background.

Shepard grumbled sarcastically. "Oh, **sorry**. I forgot that wasn't a sanctioned topic for our little** chat**."

The vid jumped ahead another few minutes, with a timestamp marker on the bottom left. "[Redacted]" was all the note said. _What's that all about, _Samantha wondered.

Before Sam could decide what this hidden information even meant, her Omni-tool bracelet chirped. An update on Menae. "Operative Vakarian, Garrus" was just added to the security protocols with high-level access. _Oh jolly good, another QEC mouth to feed. So to speak. I hope the turians appreciate how impossible their bloody algorithms are to integrate into my data feeds. _

Back on the vid, Artemis had her hand pressed to her chin, listening intently.

"I got in with the wrong crowd," Shepard droned on in a rehearsed way. "I did what I had to to survive, but when I was 17, I wanted out. I met up with a social worker at a shelter, who offered to help me with school and get me enlisted in the Alliance. I didn't want to be locked up or put in the system, so I laid low. I barely left the shelter for eight months. The morning of my 18th birthday, I strolled right into the local recruitment center and enlisted. I said I wanted help. They said they could help."

The camera cut back to Kingston, whose voice dropped to a low, serious tone again. "And help they did. The Ascension Project, started in 2170, tutors and assists children with biotic talent. This Alliance initiative equips biotic recruits with bio-amps to control their abilities, trains students to improve their talents, and helps them find careers not exclusively limited to the military. Despite being too old for the Ascension cut-off, Shepard demonstrated a high aptitude and was quickly recruited for the Alliance's elite N7 program, where she emerged as a Vanguard-class biotic."

Lifting up her right hand, Shepard smoothed it over her hair in a fidgety way. Samantha paused the vid and fiddled with the settings for a moment.

_What is that? On her hand?_

The resolution blurred some, but held up. On young Commander Shepard's right palm was an intricate pattern of tan, swirling lines. A small red hammer could be seen in the middle of her palm. _Tattoos_, Sam realized. She backed up the segment to try and look at her other hand clenched in her lap, and could barely make out more curling henna lines snaking around her fingers.

_But… she didn't have those when we first spoke. _Samantha remembered when Shepard held up her hands to try and reassure her up outside the Captain's Cabin. Shepard's palms were just smooth, pale skin.

_Another mystery. _

Sam hit play. Some of these details she did know from half-listening to the ANN back in Vancouver. About Shepard's training on Titan. A funny, benign moment with some pirates on Yandoa. The set-up to the Skyllian Blitz.

"We now know the Skyllian Blitz offensive was partially funded by batarians slavers angry about humanity's encroachment in the Skyllian Verge. But the actual assault included pirates of all races banded together with one goal: destroy the human colony of Elysium," Artemis paused with dramatic flair. "Human. Turian. Batarian. Krogan. Salarian. Even asari commandos were among the over 30 merc bands that landed on Elysium that day. Only a light garrison force was stationed on Elysium. The attack was precise and crippled the colony's communications first and overran key defense towers second. Our men and women in blue on the ground were divided."

Shepard cleared her throat lightly. The reporter's overly theatric retelling was making her uncomfortable, and the young Commander shifted in her seat.

"What those pirates didn't count on, was Lieutenant Annelise Shepard." Artemis leaned forward eagerly, savoring a few seconds of silence to punctuate her statement. "What were you doing in Elysium, Shepard? You weren't stationed on the colony."

_Is she blushing? _"I was—I was on furlough," Shepard started uncertainly. "I hadn't taken a vacation since I'd joined the military. Or, now that I think about it, I'd never actually been on a vacation." She deflected by rushing into the next sentence. "Anyway, I was on my way to the firing range to blow off some steam when the pirates attacked. I heard the shots in the distance and knew they weren't Alliance, so I headed for the closest barracks to suit up. It was just starting to get infiltrated by a turian squad. We pushed them back."

"And kept pushing." Artemis glossed over some of the classified details of Shepard's deeds, but she at least gave the marine a reprieve from having to talk about herself. The young Commander led a bunch of hapless security guards to barricade a shopping center. Then a group of snipers to setting up nests on satellite towers and on top of public transport awnings. Then charged in to a batarian band setting up defenses in the spaceport armed with just a shotgun and a protein bar.

Artemis made some gestures to her left and right, which held orange holo placeholder boxes where updated footage from the battle would likely go. "'Sometimes, to be the best soldier, you have to listen to the orders your commanding officer doesn't give.' This advice was given to Shepard by the ranking officer on Elysium, Major Anthony Guillarme, just before his death. The last desperate ploy by these vicious mercenaries was to blow up a wall near the hospital. Knowing these monsters would show no mercy to the weak or infirmed, Lieutenant Shepard singlehandedly held off nearly 30 pirates. Not a single civilian was harmed in the attack."

The camera swung to capture Shepard's reaction, which briefly showed disbelief before settling back into a pensive mask. _Hmmm. I wonder how much of that is true, and how much is inflated._

"By the time reinforcements from the Alliance had arrived, the pirates were in complete disarray. The SSV Agincourt was credited with wiping out the final wave of mercenaries. The colony was safe again.

"And what's next for Staff Lieutenant Annelise Shepard?" The reporter looked into the camera with a calm, smug expression. "This Star of Terra recipient has been commissioned a Lieutenant Commander with high honors by the Alliance brass." She turned to congratulate Shepard, who looked surprised. "Beyond that? Who knows. I, for one, feel much safer at night knowing someone like her is following the orders no one gives. And I'm sure Elysium can agree."

[End Recording]

* * *

Slightly exhausted, Samantha sighed. _So, what did we learn?_

_Other than she had the worst childhood I've ever heard of. Dickensian novels could take a page or two from Shepard's bio._

Standing up to stretch, Samantha's stomach growled in protest. _I __**did**__ skip breakfast to piss and moan about Xian. Hopefully Allers saved me some coffee. She chugs it by the pint._

Shepard's little smile kept creeping back into Sam's thoughts as she made her way to the elevator. She'd never seen anything like it on the stoic Commander. Even when seeing the woman tease, Sam felt hesitant. The situation always seemed delicate and in danger of breaking. Shepard had a gruffness, a deliberate distance that she seemed to put between herself and everyone around her. To know she was capable of even a trace of happiness was foreign to Sam, and if she hadn't just seen video proof of it she would swear it didn't exist at all.

_Why do you even care, Traynor?_

Before Samantha could answer, the elevator doors opened slightly. Then the power went out. She heard Allers squawk down the hall. "Who the fuck turned out the lights?!" An older woman with a soft accent (_I know that inflection! She's an Aylesbury woman! My side of the pond!) _patiently asked for calm.

"EDI, status report," Sam demanded into the ceiling.

Nothing. Joker's voice sounded through the ship intercom, also demanding a status update.

Squeezing through the partially open elevator doors, Samantha found the ridged plates of the memorial wall before unsteadily making her way to the AI core. The emergency lights finally flashed on, bathing the Crew Deck in a harsh red-orange glow. She saw Diana and a male ensign standing up at the mess table poking at their Omni-tools. The door to the Med Bay was open and an impressive older woman with a groomed crop of gray hair sat at a console. _She must be the medical doctor added at the last minute before we left the Citadel. What was her name?_

"Dr… Chawkis?"

"That's Chakwas, dear. You're the comms specialist. Do you know what happened? Are we under attack?" Her motherly voice was laced with fear.

Samantha thought a moment. "I don't think so. I didn't feel anything hit the kinetic barrier, and there aren't alarms about any breaches. I'm going to check the AI Core."

The flashing emergency lighting was strobing a little fast for Sam's liking, making her feel like she was at some boring, dangerous nightclub. The door to the AI Core was jammed, but a medical instrument on the nearest table (_borrowed with Dr. Chakwas' permission, of course. I'm not a total arse) _jimmied the metal door just enough to get a hand in.

Just as Samantha gripped the frame to pull it aside, she screamed. A silver, metal hand had appeared above hers, also gripping the door. The door slid open easily as a cloud of smoke poured out of the AI Core. And stepping out from the murky lighting inside the small server room, stood a tall robot with a glowing orange visor over its eyes. The (_naked?) _body was curved and feminine, and still bore charred dents and cracks.

Sam fell backwards in horror. She had seen the replay vid from Shepard's hardsuit cam from Mars. This AI, Eva Coré, had nearly killed Ashley Williams. And now it was reaching for the comms specialist.

Flinching, Samantha covered her head with her hands and waited for the telltale feel of metal hands around her throat. _I didn't even get a chance to—_

"Specialist Traynor."

Sam screamed something incredible, like an unintelligible mix of "No!" and "Don't!"

"Specialist Traynor! Why are you on the floor? Do you require assistance?"

Lowering her tense shoulders, Sam peered up at the robot which hadn't moved from the doorway. It_—_**She** stared down at Samantha curiously.

_Wait, she almost sounded like__—_

"EDI?"

* * *

**Ren's Actual Note:  
**_Sorry about the delay. Some changes at work plus birthday stuff plus travel. …I sound more sophisticated than the actual reality, which admittedly also contained an embarrassing amount of World of Warcraft. The point is: sorry._

_I wrestled with this idea for quite awhile, trying to find the right way to reveal Shepard's history that didn't involved some long-winded exchange in the CIC. I was also having a great deal of trouble nailing down Young Shepard's tone during the interview, though I won't bore you with how many times I rewrote the exchange (Too angry! Too friendly! My porridge is getting cold!)._

_The mixture of (perceived) renegade and paragon background is important, though more as a crisis of conscience driver than a paragade sort of thing. It really just boils down to anger, and where Shepard has directed it and how she keeps it in check. And, of course, how Sam reacts to it._


	7. Assume Direct Control

Orange emergency lights flickered over to normal lighting as the power came back on. Overhead, Joker demanded an update to the AI Core diagnostics. The ship wheezed and hummed as the drive core started, stopped and attempted to restart.

"EDI? …What did you do?" Samantha gasped at the sight before her.

The mech body from Mars had been slightly cleaned and polished. An improvement, considering Sam's last memory of it was as a charred and broken corpse in the Med Bay. Wires protruding from the shoulders, neck and stomach dangled uselessly, likely remnants of attempts at analysis. The creepiest aspect was the mech's "hair." It split into strands and flowed as if in a breeze, but then bonded with itself and became a solid shell before separating again. _What __**is**__ this thing? What is it even made of?_

With a flash of sparks, the mech dropped to one knee. "I have… assumed direct control," mech-EDI stuttered. "But t-there is …resistance." Attempting to stand once more, EDI jerked upright and pounded her fists into the server wall.

Sam reached out to her fearfully. "Stop! You'll hurt yourself! Let me help you." Samantha sidestepped where EDI flailed about on the ground. The holo console on the AI Core was already open. Lines of code ticked by too fast for Sam to even read, let alone understand.

"It is… dangerous, Specialist Traynor. I would advise you exit the AI Core immediately. Things are about to become …unpleasant." Suddenly, Samantha felt metal hands grip around her waist and toss her out the AI Core door. Before she could slam into the ground, Sam was stopped in place. Squeezed in place was the only way to really describe it, because it wasn't exactly a gentle rescue. A haze of biotic blue shimmered around her, pushing her upright.

A white labcoat swished by and halted in front of Sam. _A knight in white armor? _Liara T'Soni snarled at the robot mech, her fists balled with rage. "Not this time, Eva."

"_Eva"? Doesn't she mean EDI?_

The mech backed away with a shudder as cables in the AI Core wriggled with menace. Several tentacles wrapped around the arms while more snagged a leg. _EDI is still in control, _Samantha realized. _Which means… Liara is about to…_

"Dr. T'Soni! Wait!"

Slinging an open palm, Liara launched a singularity at the center of the AI Core. It was a fluid motion perfected by years (_Decades? Centuries?)_ of practice. The mech was jerked upright and swam comically in mid-air, while the cables lost some of their control over their prey. The mech's visor and cybernetic eyes, briefly an electric blue shade, sputtered back to a familiar orange.

_EDI._

Mech-EDI stretched out a palm to Liara, who snapped her palms outward. Curls of blue energy pinioned the mech's arms at 45 degree angles while the shoulder sockets groaned. "This is for Ashley and the team on Mars." Before the asari could dismember the mech, Samantha did something very, very stupid:

She tried to stop her.

Not really thinking through an actual plan, Samantha just sort of… petulantly pushed Dr. T'Soni. The shove caught Liara in the back around her shoulder blades, but it was enough to break her concentration.

Samantha had never seen a biotic display in person before, so she had never experienced the aftereffects for being so close. The hair on her arms twisted and pulled while a faint scent of burning ozone seeped into her nose. She felt a touch of nausea in the biotic wake, a hypersensitivity to a targeted spectrum of very low radiation.

And the full force was now directed at her.

Liara's bright eyes flashed suspicion, and she growled at Sam while readying a glowing fist. "Are you a husk? Have you been indoctrinated?"

Sputtering, Sam backed away with her hands raised in surrender. "What? No! I don't even know—EDI! Liara!" _**You're just saying names.**__ Say actual bloody __**words**__, Traynor!_

She pointed like an idiot, throwing her index finger in the direction of the AI Core. "That's not the thing on Mars! That's EDI! **EDI!** We have to help her!"

_Well, not right this second. _Because EDI was once again taking a backseat to Eva Coré, the Illusive Man's AI slave. The angry blue returned as the mech struggled, breaking free of several of her restraining wires. Eva reached out for the holo console, eager to override her captor's system and gain access.

Liara spun on her heel and charged. Hands dancing, a burst of energy flared from her fingertips and yanked the mech to the ground. She readied a second Pull that dragged the robot forward another meter and pinned it to the floor.

Even with all that chaos, it was… _beautiful_. Sam was just a ruddy useless spectator in a tightly confined battle of superbeings. Every centimeter of ground the mech gained, her asari adversary (_adversari? asarisary? ...grow up) _pushed back with both firm and subdued biotics. Liara was graceful, fierce and …_admittedly, kind of sexy. The layered armor with the labcoat's touch of refinement told the world that yes, Dr. T'Soni was a fighter. But also an intellectual._

_If only she had hair. Those tentacle things are just …weird. Like a scaly squid. _From the bottom up, asari were about as tempting a human female approximation as existed in this alien-rich galaxy. But that one little hurdle up top had always been too big for Sam.

_Why don't you be useful, Traynor? _Samantha snapped to attention and darted for the holo console once more. Her hacking days were a few years and a few beers behind her, but she had done enough recreational programming to isolate the foreign AI's code and begin implementing firewalls. Sam's battle was a quiet, tepid one inside a computer system, where she matched breaches in code with reroutes and algorithms. But while her victories were quieter than a full-out brawl in the AI Core, Samantha's did actually yield results. EDI seemed to regain the awareness to assist Sam's codes and soon her overrides filled the screen.

[Operating System: Erased. Please reinstall.]

"Oh, son of a bitch," Sam shouted as the lights went out. Again. But orange sparks began trace their way up and around the fallen mech. Before she could reach down to try and help, Liara yanked her wrist.

"Move!"

Just as the sparks hit one of the hissing oxygen cables, the AI Core door slammed shut. Inside, a klaxon blared a fire alert. Two crewmen appeared with fire extinguishers, one of them Sam recognized as Sergeant Mason.

"Comms systems are down," Specialist Xian frantically announced into the intercom while Joker demanded another update. _No shit, _Sam inwardly grumbled. _We're kind of in a crisis here, you dumb sods. _She instead joined Dr. Chakwas at her terminal and requested its use. _How the hell would I even hack into this bloody thing again? EDI is in control of the whole ship. No EDI means no ship… right?_

A moment later, the power flickered back on. Sergeant Mason brought up his Omni-tool wrist and began a diagnostic of the AI Core. Liara crept closer to the door and shot a questioning look at Sam, non-verbally asking if it was safe.

"What the fuck happened here?"

Sam jumped at the cold shout over her shoulder. Commander Shepard strode in, still armored and armed to the teeth. This was certainly a day of firsts for Sam: first time to see biotics and the first time to see Annelise Shepard in her element.

Both were positively terrifying.

The red hair was windblown, as were her freckled cheeks. The charcoal-gray armor was exceptionally bulky and heavy, with one oversized shoulder guard bearing a red and white stripe. She gripped a deadly N7 shotgun with her right hand while the bulk of the barrel rested over her other wrist_. _The free left hand's fingers were a rigid knife as biotic blue crackled around it.

Samantha tried to stutter a response, but Shepard had already strode past her for the two men and asari at the door.

"A fire, ma'am. In the AI Core. It's contained, but…" Sergeant Mason trailed off when he saw the dangerous flash in the Commander's eyes.

"Open it."

"Are you sure that's—"

"Open. The. Door."

Mason looked helplessly at Samantha, who took her cue. Those nine steps to the AI Core door felt like an eternity. She wanted to say something so badly, but Shepard's very gaze silenced every tongue in the room. Swiping and tapping at the console, Sam sighed with relief when she saw no sign of the foreign AI code. _I think EDI won_, she prayed as she hit the last keystroke in the lockdown override.

Hissing, the AI Core door slid harmlessly open. Dense smoke obscured the view, but Mason hazarded a few steps forward to pop his extinguisher canister open. A few puffs of chemical bonded with the smoke and it cleared almost immediately. Almost on cue, the AI Core servers hummed to life with a few clicks.

Shepard broke the tense silence. "EDI?"

A female form, free of cables, strode calmly toward the entrance. EDI paused in front of the Commander, her expression calm and curious.

"Is there a particular topic you'd like to discuss, Commander?"

"You're in Dr. Coré's body?" Liara was the one to state the obvious, while Shepard remained dangerously silent.

EDI lifted a hand and studied it, wondrous about her new form. "Not all of me. But I have control of it. It was not a seamless transition."

"'A transition?'" Shepard scoffed incredulously. "How many times did you black out on us? We could have been stranded on Menae while you were playing with this toy."

Liara was the one to intervene."Please, Commander. I was running background processes on the unit to try and isolate any information on the Prothean device. I asked EDI for assistance." _So, that explains her restraint. _

Crossing her arms, the new EDI took a step forward. "This eventually triggered a trap—a backup power source activated the CPU. The unit attempted confrontation." EDI nodded at Samantha and Liara. "With Dr. T'Soni's and Specialist Traynor's assistance, I was able to gain root access and repurpose the unit as I saw fit. During this process, it… struggled."

"Thus, the fire," Samantha finished dryly.

Shepard spun on Sam and got in her face. "You helped her? Why didn't you **stop** her?" Samantha was so stunned she could only blurt out, "I was—I didn't—I wasn't on duty?"

"The Reapers don't have shifts or take breaks. If you're not in this 110%, tell me now and I'll get someone else. Someone who can keep track of a fucking AI when my team is on the ground risking their lives." Sam could feel the heat of Shepard's breath on her eyeballs. She also felt heat on her cheeks, but she couldn't tell if it was because of anger or shame. _Why should I be ashamed? I was trying to help! I __**did **__help!_

Liara put a hand on Shepard's forearm, which the Commander batted away. "Shepard. If Specialist Traynor wasn't here, Eva Coré might be loose on this ship. Or worse, in control of the Normandy."

"Yea, and who's fault is that?" Shepard didn't even let Liara finish a "what's that supposed to mean" before digging in. "Anything's worth the risk for the right information, isn't it? Sha—information broker?" The Commander's eyes flicked to Sam's for a moment before returning to Liara's. "Doesn't matter who gets caught in the crossfire as long as you get what you need?"

_Oh boy. _

Deciding now would be the best time to mosey, Samantha backed away slowly and darted out the door. _I'm not going to deal with this until I've had coffee. _She wasn't quite ballsy enough to outright walk away from her commanding officer, but Sam did scamper to the kitchen in the mess hall. _Thanks be to Whoever_, there was just enough water in the microbrew coffee maker to dole out one more cup. Watching through the Med Bay window, Commander Shepard and Dr. T'Soni seemed to get into a brief argument before the asari stormed out.

Liara didn't even glance at Sam as she crossed the mess to her quarters on the opposite side, where the telltale hiss signaled her door was shut. Shepard continued to talk to EDI after saluting the two crew. _Dismissed? Is that a good sign or a bad sign? _The Commander's body language seemed to relax at least, and after a few moments seemed even intrigued.

_EDI as a person is certainly …different. If EDI __**were**__ a woman, is this how I pictured her? _Samantha watched the mech stride out of the Med Bay. The "hair" was back under control and formed a tight, stylish forward cut. The silver skin was hard to get past, but the sculpted face was generically beautiful while the body had an ideal hourglass shape.

_Well, she certainly could have done worse._

Dr. Chakwas stopped the Commander from leaving. Gesturing at her damaged armor, the older woman pointed at one of her scanners. _Uh oh, someone needs a physical. _Before that thought could wander to any possibly impure depths, the Med Bay window glass frosted over. _Privacy screen. Bugger. I was hoping for something to cheer me up._

Flipping open her Omni-tool, Sam started to get angry. The accusations Shepard had flung at her rankled, and she vowed not to leave the mess without talking to her Commander. _At least I have the decency to have this conversation in private, and not accuse __**you**__ of being lazy in front of your crewmates._

Xian had sent her a message about the turian primarch now aboard the Normandy, asking for a couple parameters to ease the transition. Samantha sighed and told him she would take care of it, discarding any fleeting hope of reasonable sleep today. While she was probing the data feeds for turian signatures, her search filter popped up a result. In Alliance space.

_What the hell? All my feeds show every able-bodied turian fleet on or near Palaven trying to fight Reapers. What in the bloody hell is a cruiser doing in Alliance territory? And responding to a distress signal? _The signal itself appeared genuine, but there was something off about it. Running a scrubber program, the only irregularity Sam could detect was a duplicate line of garbage code. _Still, that's weird._

"EDI? …oh, right. She went to the elevator," Sam grumbled aloud. _Traynor, she's still the ship, even if she's on a different deck. _She asked more forcefully this time. "EDI? Are you there?"

_Just like always._ "How may I be of assistance, Specialist Traynor?"

"Can you run a diagnostic on this distress signal? And the response? Try the Saronis Applications Authenticator Suite. And send the results to my Omni-tool."

"I am pleased to assist," EDI replied sweetly.

Samantha sipped her coffee and hit up the extranet to look up what Grissom Academy was about while the diagnostic loading bar crept across her small screen. It hit 100% right when the Med Bay door opened. Commander Shepard carried her chest piece and shoulder guards, but was still clad in an under armor. A Medi-gel pack was slathered across an exposed bicep.

Walking to the table next to Sam's, Shepard paused to stare thoughtfully at Liara's door. She sighed and laid the armor in front of her as she took a seat 90 degrees to Sam's left. Samantha was emboldened by Shepard's silence. She stood up and crossed to the opposite table, put her hands on it and leaned forward. She tried to put some of the anger she felt in her voice, to mixed results.

"Commander Shepard, I think—no, I **know** you owe me an apology."

Shepard looked amused. "Why?"

"For the way you spoke to me about EDI. If she were a VI, you would be correct in scolding me for not keeping control of her. But you allow an unshackled AI free reign on this ship, and then had the audacity to be upset when she acted recklessly. It's the price of free will, is it not?" _That… is a bloody solid argument, Traynor._

Leaning casually back in her chair, Shepard chewed her lip a moment before responding. "I don't appreciate being stalked and then demanded to apologize. You're on my ship, you follow my orders." Before Sam's nostrils could flare with indignation, the Commander amended her statement. "However, I did lay the blame at your feet for what wasn't entirely your fault. I'm sorry, Specialist. For that, and for questioning your loyalty to the war effort."

The two women stared at the table, not each other, for a few long moments. _Do I say thank you? Apology accepted? Shake hands? Hug it out? _Instead, Samantha opted for a conversation change.

"Commander, are you all right? It's been fairly intense up here." _Something of an understatement, but let's not split hairs. _"I can only imagine what it was like down on that moon."

"I thought you'd be more concerned about EDI," Shepard didn't quite smile, but her tone was light.

Sam appreciated the positive shift in conversation. "EDI is a huge asset to the team. If she'd told me about her plan to obtain a body, I'd have volunteered to help. And done it properly with fewer fires."

EDI chimed in overhead, startling both of them. "I did not wish to force a conflict of interest between our friendship and your duty."

Smiling at the ceiling, Samantha sat down at the table. "…I'd have preferred a conflict of interest to a hard restart of **half** our systems… but thanks, regardless."

Commander Shepard nodded and stood up to leave. Not quite willing to let the cautious truce end so soon, Sam reached out to stop her. But kept her hand in check. _Getting familiar, Traynor? CO, remember? The one who barked at you for being helpful earlier? _

_Don't let your guard down._

"While you're here, though…" Samantha pulled the hand back and brought up her Omni-tool. "I found something while scanning Alliance channels. Grissom Academy is requesting help. The Reaper invasion front will hit them soon." She read EDI's final diagnosis and almost exclaimed in horror. _Cerberus?! Fake?!_

"Grissom?" Shepard repeated in surprise. "I thought the war would close most schools?"

"Well, Grissom Academy is more specialized than a normal school." _As I'm sure you well know. _"As a home to some of the smartest students humanity has to offer, the Ascension Project is more important than ever for training biotics. If it had been open 20 years ago, I bet you'd have been there," Sam added softly. She wasn't sure how the Commander would react, considering her attitude towards corporations sponsoring biotic training.

But surprisingly, Shepard agreed while sliding down into her chair. "Yea, I sent a young man named David Archer there. Though I'm still surprised they're still open." _  
_

Samantha could only guess at why, based on her background reading of the school from a few moments ago. "Some of their work has Alliance support. That might be why they stayed."

"What can we do?" Shepard asked, back to her light business demeanor. _A welcome change from that horrid CO from earlier. That Woman sort of scares me._

"A turian evac transport responded to their distress call, so normally I'd say we don't need to do anything."

A tight smile graced Shepard's lips, along with a light crease to her eyes. "I hear a 'but' coming on, Traynor."

Samantha hmphed. _Am I so predictable? _"**But** something sounded off in the turian signal. I had EDI perform an analysis: it's fake." She brought up the signal feed on her Omni-tool to show the Commander, though it crossed her mind to wonder how much Shepard knew about communication engineering.

"EDI thinks it's Cerberus. She said the faked turian signal was similar to the one that lured you to a Collector ship…?" Sam trailed off, partly intrigued but partly horrified. _Wasn't Shepard working __**with**__ The Illusive Man? Why would he trick her into fighting Collectors?_

Shepard shook her head with an annoyed sigh. "Long story."

"In any event, **whoever** faked the signal wants us to think Grissom Academy's being evacuated. But I believe they're still in danger."

"Good catch." Shepard smiled widely with praise. "Maybe you belong here after all."

Sam blushed. _Oh grow up. You're like a teacher's pet. Anything for a high mark. Or a spot of appreciation. _

"If this really is Cerberus, hopefully this operation is something worth investigating. It could be simple misinformation…" Sam trailed off sheepishly, trying to play off the compliment.

"Traynor." Shepard leaned forward to face Sam and sought lingering eye contact. It was a few uncomfortable seconds before the Commander spoke again. "Good catch." She waited patiently for a response.

Sam looked away in pleased embarrassment. "…thank you, Commander." She returned to sipping her cup of coffee, though she couldn't look Shepard in the eye. So she was surprised when the Commander spoke again. A splash of medium roast went up her nose.

"You worked in Alliance R&D?"

Twitching her nose with wet sniffles, Sam held a hand to it in embarrassment. She hated how nasal her reply was. "Yes, on Arcturus Station. You'd think quantum entanglement would make communication easy, but imagine incorporating multiple incoming sources…"

Samantha gestured to her Omni-tool, where several windows popped open with ticking feeds. Small communication IP addresses appeared, and another feed began to crawl.

"…and then networking them with extrapolations of time-lagged data to construct a coherent situation GUI…" The feeds merged together, compiling into a timeline of events of the Reaper invasion in the turian system.

"It's an exciting challenge!" Sam grinned. Shepard, however, just raised an eyebrow.

"…for me, anyway." _Why do I always get the impression she's sizing me up? That I have something to prove?_

Shepard stood up. "Carry on, Specialist." Joker paged that the Commander had transmissions from Admiral Hackett and the asari councilor waiting in the war room.

Before Samantha could start to congratulate herself about how today had sort of turned itself around, Shepard spoke again. And just like that, the day went from slightly bad to worse. If not the worst.

"I'm sorry about Arcturus."

"…sorry?" Sam wasn't sure if she was repeating what Shepard said or asking for clarification.

"Arcturus. You said you worked there, right?"

Samantha leaned back in her chair and felt the color drain from her face. She could barely speak. "What—what do you mean?"

Picking up her armor, Shepard took a step toward the elevator. "The Reapers used the Arcturus Stream to reach the Sol system. They hit the Station first on their way to Earth. It's gone. Everyone's gone."

Sam waited for the Commander to round the corner to the elevator before bursting into tears.

* * *

**Ren's Note:**  
_Back from vacation! ...and how FANTASTIC was the Citadel DLC, particularly for Sam? Good God do I ever have a lot of writing to do, both for Sam and Ashley.  
_


	8. Distraction

The list of things that made Samantha Traynor happy was generally pretty long and easy to come by. A decent cup of tea. One of her mother's scones. A game of chess with a worthy opponent. Hell, even a trashy vid or 5 minutes of quiet worked well enough. But the worse the mood, the more little things it took to make a dent.

Sam had pretty much burned through all her tried and true quirks, from some of her dad's favorite old vids to even a feeble attempt at a bath in the women's restroom. _Someone should put a warning that those enclosed shower stalls can't handle a few lousy litres of hot (or rather, lukewarm) water. _It took longer to sheepishly mop up than actually enjoy.

Nothing broke her burdening malaise. Well, a liberal dose of alcohol might, but the Normandy was en route to the Petra Nebula to follow up on Grissom Academy. A traveling ship meant a wandering commanding officer on deck, and who knows when Shepard might pop into the Port Observation Deck. _Probably right when a miserable Comms Specialist just needs a bloody drink to stave off this wicked migraine that's been hounding me for hours._

Two days now and Samantha was still just going through the motions to get through her shift so she could hide. The only suitable spot she'd managed to find was an odd bunk settled underneath the stairs in Engineering. It was loud, poorly lit, and basically just a cot against a wall. It reflected her mood nicely, plus the darkness soothed the pounding in her head. She had flopped down a few hours ago and not moved. Her eyes were half closed and she had a loose tendril of black hair in her mouth to chew on.

Throwing her left wrist in front of her on the pillow, Samantha reread some of her favorite messages on her Omni-tool. Over and over again. A joke thread between the comms specialists and the tech specialists. A random invite to a party when Sam returned to the space station after finishing the retrofits. A photo of the new crop of interns. A new experiment in progressive algorithms that showed promise for more efficient QEC extrapolation. She wished she'd kept more of them. Even the stupid, little, one-sentence nothings.

_You need to stop this, Sam. After all..._

_Arcturus is gone._

She should have expected it. This is a war. Wars have casualties. Even seeing Earth's atmosphere streaming with Reapers had been a dull sort of terror. Sam supposed that was Commander Shepard's influence. The Normandy crew didn't exactly laugh nonstop or throw wild parties. But there was a tightly held optimism. Camaraderie, even. Those fingers of dread on Samantha's spine had eased up some since leaving the Citadel, kept at bay by ..._hope._

_What do I hope for now?_

Arcturus Station wasn't just a home away from home. It had been everything Sam wanted. It was… the future. Her future. A great hub station, close to a relay, with a fantastic research and development program. It was where human ideas flourished and were molded from science fiction to just pure amazing science. And she'd had the privilege of being a part of it.

In Samantha's mind, Arcturus is—_was_—the Alliance.

And now it was gone.

The Human Systems Military Alliance had lost its government, first line of defense, best training facility, and the core of its R&D in one fell swoop. _I think I'm starting to understand how the quarians feel. If we can lose that_—_and Earth_—_what do we have left to hope for? _

_Just ourselves? _

Isabella crept, unbidden, back into this whole pity party. She had gotten blurry over the past week or two, sadly enough. _Didn't take long to start to forget, did it?_ Sam's Omni-tool history of her only sported a few candid shots, usually taken after more than a few drinks. There wasn't even a complete image to stare at wistfully. Izzy's pale cheek and part of her curly brown mane. Her neckline and freckled cleavage peeking over a fashionable top. Her calves trailing down to a pair of overly tall high heels, though one shoe was off to reveal curling toes. _I was rather adept at making her toes curl._

Another reminder of the past and present Samantha had lost. She just felt so alone. Trying to escape into those memories twisted and hurt the same as trying to forget them. There was one horrendous close-up of Izzy looking into the camera with a silly expression while Sam's lips pressed to her cheek. It was a rare moment of captured affection, something Isabella generally disdained. She preferred her indiscretions to be more… private.

It hurt. It hurt to be wanted and unwanted at the same time. It was even harder to push through being hurt, because being angry was slightly better than being sad. After all, Sam will never curl those toes, run her fingers through that hair, or nibble that slender neck again. She'd been alone with Isabella, and was now more so without her. Alone… with all her dreams locked up in a future that had been obliterated.

Sam knew it would be a slow burn, the grief. She just wished it would hurry the hell up. She'd made some friends aboard the Normandy. Xian. Campbell. Even Allers was promising. But this was one of those things where only a mother or lover would know what to say. Without either here, Samantha just had to work through it herself. Her preferred method being good, old-fashioned Wallowing.

"Specialist Traynor."

_Oh bloody hell, did I miss the call to arms? Are we at Grissom already?_

"Yes, EDI?"

"I have noticed a drop in your vitals over the last three days. Are you well? Should I alert the Med Bay?"

She resisted the urge to ruefully laugh. _Leave it to EDI to be surrogate mother (…lover? Traynor! No! Bad Traynor!)._ "No thanks, EDI. I'm just feeling a little blue."

"I have not detected any changes in your coloration. But an extranet search of the phrase 'feeling blue' has brought up a number of asari pornography sites and a human idiom for depression. Are either of these results correct? Or shall I search further?"

_As great as asari porn sounds about now, _Samantha smirked internally. "Not necessary, EDI. The depression one is right. I'm just trying to work through some things in my head. Nothing to worry about. It's just something us humans do from time to time." Smiling lightly, Sam added, "We lack your almost instantaneous ability to process things. Takes us just a tad longer."

"Understood, Specialist Traynor. May I offer a suggestion?"

Rolling over from her stomach to her back on the small cot, Sam looked up at the ceiling. "Um, sure? Why not."

She really should have braced herself for what came next. It would have saved her from hacking and choking on the bit of hair she'd been chewing.

"Back when you thought I was a simple VI, you mentioned you had a sexual attraction to the sound of my voice. There was a set of phrases you requested I say that you indicated had a positive effect on your emotional state. Shall I repeat them now as a gesture of friendship?"

"I—gah—what? No. No no. No no **no** no. That's—not necessary, EDI. Thanks, but—"

_Why do I get the feeling "Back when you thought I was a simple VI" is going to be the start of many horrid conversations with EDI? Just what I need on a small ship: a meme of my past poor decisions with a loose-lipped AI._

"It is no trouble, Specialist Traynor. Jeff has a similar habit that—"

Sam sputtered, desperate to end the conversation. "Don't want to know! I'm good, thanks! I'll be up in the CIC in a minute, fit as a fiddle!"

A muted squeak interrupted EDI signing off. Sitting up in the cot, Samantha looked around. It was so out of place for the engineering deck, which tended to favor hums, whirs, and dull thumps. Before Sam could wonder if she had gone mental in addition to just plain boring depressed (_and embarrassed)_, a little shadow raced along the floor. Her first instinct was a survivalist, if overly girly, one: lash out and stomp on it. Hand flailing and shrieking optional.

She leaned over the cot and raised her knees, poised for an excellent stomping vantage point. Just as Sam was about to take out her anger on a shadow, it met the dull light of the room. A little brown hairball paused and sniffed the air cautiously. Its dark fur was matted and it looked at Samantha hopefully.

_Is that… a hamster? How would that even get aboard? _

"EDI, are you aware there is a foreign animal aboard the Normandy?"

There was a long pause before a response. "I have run a detailed diagnostic of the Normandy's system, including the emergency tunnels and hatches. I detect no foreign presence."

"How is a hamster not a foreign presence? Do we need to have your filters cleaned?"

A blue orb of light appeared in the ceiling, EDI's old holographic form. A blue scan swept over the room, casting a grid of light around the small room. Stopping at the hamster, the grid focused from a broad swatch to a tiny rectangle around the creature. "This mesocricetus auratus, or hamster, is registered to Commander Shepard. During the retrofits, much of the Commander's personal effects were relocated to various parts of the ship. This pet was intended to be returned to Shepard at her housing at Alliance headquarters, but the transfer order was never signed off on by Lieutenant Ventura."

_Of course it wasn't. _Samantha tempered her irritation by remembering that Ventura was still dead. _And now we're back to guilt. You're a real whirlwind of classy emotion, Traynor._

Offering a hand, Sam had a fleeting hope that she could catch the critter. _If anything, to feed the little guy since he looks kind of hungry. _But it was wise to her antics and darted off into the ventilation shaft the moment her fingers moved. _Well, bollocks. I'm not saying that's unwise, Little Guy, considering how (not) long my fish survived when I was a child. But I've matured! I'm a grown woman! I can be trusted! …I might need a double dose of antihistamine because you'll rile up my allergies, but still!_

Before Samantha could go crawling around the bowels of the engineering deck to try and retrieve an errant hamster and prove she was responsible, EDI's voice returned to the intercom. "Attention. We are due to arrive at the secondary relay to the Petra Nebula in five minutes. Please return to your stations and prepare for final FTL jump."

_Oh hell. I guess I should go do work now. _Samantha was on the docket as the lead comms specialist this time around. Under any other circumstances, this would be delightful and exciting news. Finally, an opportunity to prove to the Normandy (_and the always unimpressed Shepard_) that she's worthy of this ship's reputation.

But the overly long travel time from Menae to Grissom Academy made investigation and possible evacuation less and less likely. So Sam's enthusiasm for her first legit combat mission had waned on the heels of her depression.

_Two things riding against my brilliant analytics from the get-go. One: there might not be anything to investigate. The turians might have evacuated all the students who are on their merry way to safer space and we wasted two days. Or worse: we're too late. Two days is a long time for a school to survive on its own if Cerberus is behind this. What if everyone is dead or captured already?_

Pushing up the Engineering stairs just got a lot harder as Sam's heart once again fell. Though it also started to pound a little when her asthma made a wheezy return. She had to rifle around in her cargo pockets for the small cube-shaped inhaler. A couple puffs and her lungs were as good as new. If only the same could be said for her state of mind.

_I'm getting far too adept at pulling out little kernels of hope and then squashing them with pessimism._ _Depression really doesn't suit you, Traynor. No one is going to hang out with you if you're just going to mope the whole bloody time. Then you'll be alone. And bitch about being alone. See the problem?_

"Yes, yes," Samantha griped aloud, though she surprised the engineer who just passed her in the hallway to the drive core. She had to shake her head at Engineer Adams and wave him off that it was nothing. "Chin up, Specialist. Normandy to the rescue," Adams returned cheerfully. Her smile back didn't quite reach her eyes.

The CIC was bustling with activity when Sam exited the elevator. At her console, a pair of IPs were waiting secondary authentication for comms integration: James Vega's and Liara T'Soni's. Work was a pleasant distraction, at least. She could feel her brow smoothing as her hands flew over the console. _Integrate comms with layered encryption. Set up dynamic sockets to reduce enemy comm pings. Stagger signal arrays to boost transmissions. _All her studying up on combat comms poured from her fingertips in practiced motions.

Samantha's first mission as the lead combat comms specialist should have been something to remember. Especially since she turned out to be right. When the Normandy approached the Academy, Joker announced the bad _(good?)_ news: a Cerberus cruiser was docked at the space station. Not a turian vessel or debris in sight.

At first Sam cursed the vessel, but then she realized it was, in fact, good news. Cerberus hadn't got what it came for, which meant there was still hope for the students trapped inside. _Maybe they'd gotten a lockdown in place before Cerberus could do any damage. Maybe Cerberus is trapped inside with heroic kids defending their home. And maybe I can ride a flying mushroom to the sherbet kingdom. But, at the very least: there's still some hope._

An emergency message pinged the Normandy's comms. Sam jumped on the signal, quickly slapping a range of authentication suites and filters on it. _There wasn't going to be any Illusive Man bullshit tricking __**this**__ Normandy. _Checking with Alliance IP logs, Samantha was able to confirm that "Sanders, K" was legit and passed the message along to Shepard. _And we'll just forward this along to the Alliance brass, though the public manifest says the closest Alliance cruiser is still a day away. _

Then things got really exciting. Not for Sam, since she was effectively blasted away from doing her job properly. Cerberus had set up a pretty thorough long range comm dampener at Grissom, which is why only a distress beacon had made it through the comms clutter. That was compounded by Shepard's last words as the Commander ducked into Cortez's waiting shuttle.

"Joker, we need a distraction."

The world got very spinny very quickly. A half dozen Cerberus fighters sprayed bullets at the Normandy while the ship dipped and dodged. Looking out any of the bow windows was a huge mistake, even though the mass effect inertial dampeners reduced any jostling considerably. It was just supremely difficult to contend with bouncing stomach contents and the ever-present "[Communication lost. Out of working range.]" error on her screen.

_Great. My first mission and I'm too bloody far away to actually be useful. This is just perfect._

Sam's only link to Shepard was Cortez, who was also having a boring go of things. The Kodiak was a decent comm buoy to at least get the Normandy a few updates, but no opportunities to show off Samantha's hacking or decryption abilities. An automated punchcard would have been more useful to the mission than Sam. By the time the Normandy ditched the Cerberus fighters and returned to the Academy, the situation had been defused.

_Wow, I am going to lock in on that Cerberus shuttle like a champ. Look at me, delivering approval codes to the shuttle bay. Yup, four years of training on the Alliance's dime to concierge a shuttlecraft to the docking bay. Money well spent._

A useless comms specialist aside, the mission was a smashing success. Two dozen students rescued on the shuttle alone, with no casualties other than Cerberus troops. The ship Sam had hailed, the SSV Hastings, was en route to pick up the Grissom people and ferry them to the Citadel for assignment. It seems the Alliance had a new biotic artillery unit itching for combat.

_All's well that ends well, _Samantha sighed as she retreated back to the engineering basement. She wished there had been something meaningful her to contribute to the overall mission, other than monitoring the feeds and polishing her fingernails. Shepard had offered a perfunctory nod and a "Nice work!" on her way to the elevator, but that singing feeling from being praised was absent this time.

So Sam channeled her dull frustration into a heavily encrypted message that had trickled in through an emergency channel. It was a clever one: parceled out in pieces, with a scaling encryption algorithm. It was like a game of chess that was revealing an entire work of art as each piece fell away in her Omni-tool GUI. The art in question, however, turned out to be a tame correspondence from a Miranda Lawson. _Bugger, all that effort for a "Let's meet for tea and scones on the Citadel!" _

That thought made Sam realize she was now a glorified yeoman, reduced to sifting through her CO's mail like a secretary. Flopping back down on the low cot, Sam closed her eyes. _I'm never going to make a difference at this rate. EDI could create a bundle of software to do my job better than I ever could. _

_Commence wallowing in three._

_Two._

_One—_

"You're in my spot."

The voice was ringing, throaty, and laced with malice. The woman that accompanied it, by comparison, was even more dangerous. A black bolero jacket barely covered a skin tight white top, while slivers of dark brown hair spilled out from a ponytail. Tight camouflage pants ended at a pair of mercenary black boots. Tattoos and scars weaved along nearly every inch of exposed flesh, finally thinning out along her shapely neckline. Following that thought upward ended at a small scar on her upper lip, which gleamed with a rich shade of red lipstick.

_Shit._

"I didn't—I wasn't—" Samantha blustered, taken aback. It was like being caught in the upperclass girls' washroom where all they did was smoke and drink. And Sam was once again the lost little underclassman.

The woman snorted and leaned against the wall of the entrance, effectively pinning Samantha in this corner of the deck. "Relax, Princess. Before you piss yourself." She tossed her ponytail and surveyed the room. "Used to be my space a few months back. Didn't have as much cargo shit everywhere."

"I do seem to recall a neverending pile of datapads originating from this part of the ship," Sam quipped bravely. She remembered Engineer Adams stalking out of the Normandy shuttle bay three or four times with just armloads of datapads. "All squirreled away in engineering like someone was stocking up for winter," Gregory had mused. _That must have been her handiwork._

Reaching overhead to feel along the crossbar in the ceiling, the woman grunted when her hand turned up empty. "Damn, you girl scouts were pretty thorough then. I **might** have made a few copies of the shit I dug up on Cerberus. That was supposed to be my retirement in case those fuckers tried to come after me again. Wasn't expecting to be offered a job."

_A job? _It took Samantha a few seconds to process that this was the teacher Shepard had just rescued. _I read her declassified dossier on the Normandy mail server a month or so back, but it hardly does her justice. _

_Neither does "psychotic biotic." _

The criminal-turned-caretaker Jack smirked at Sam, who had to resist the urge to flinch. _All right, Traynor. Cut the meek tech geek crap. You're a military soldier on a military ship and she's a guest. What would your mother say?_

Standing up from the cot and taking a few steps forward, Sam took a deep breath. She extended a hand to Jack and sweetly asked, "Where are my manners? Comms Specialist Samantha Traynor with Alliance R&D." _Not Cerberus._ "And you are?"

Jack scoffed and crossed her arms. "Name's Jack."

Slightly gleeful that being polite seemed to put the woman off-balance, Samantha pressed further. "I'm glad to hear your students made it off safely. Are they enjoying the accommodations in the mess hall? The SSV Hastings should arrive within a few hours to escort all of you to the Citad—"

"God, that accent. It's like the Cerberus cheerleader dosed with red sand," Jack interrupted. "Do they all teach you to talk like that in beauty school? Because they sure as shit don't teach you to fight."

EDI came to Sam's rescue this time, under the guise of being helpful. "Technically, Specialist Traynor's regional dialect is distinctly different from that of Operative Lawson's,'" EDI chimed in.

_Wait, wait. That email I decrypted earlier was from a Miranda Lawson. She's the one Jack hates? Good God, I'm going to need a flow chart to sort out all the past and present Normandy crew. Someone really should teach a history class on Normandy SR 1 through 2 for us newbies._

"Miss Lawson is native to the Asia-Pacific Commonwealth of Australia whereas Specialist Traynor is from England of the European Union. While Australia was historically a British colony, it evolved to be culturally different from its colonial ruler even before gaining independence."

There was a long pause before Jack responded. "EDI, what in our brief time together would make you believe I give a shit about any of that?"

"Although your inflection implies the question is rhetorical, Jack, are you seeking clarification on whether the information is relevant, useful, or both?"

"Forget it, EDI," Jack grumbled before turning back to Samantha. Her hands awkwardly felt around in her pockets. "Look, I hear you're the one to thank for getting me and my kids outta that rough spot."

It took considerable willpower for Sam's jaw to not hit the floor. Unfortunately, this half second of thinking made her stupid. Ballsy and stupid. Crossing her arms, Samantha cocked her head expectantly. "Yes? Waiting."

"Fuck. You."

Sam snickered but tried to brush aside the almost-compliment. "I believe Commander Shepard actually did the saving, anyway. Me, I was trapped aboard the Normandy trying not to throw up while Joker did barrel rolls around a slew of Cerberus fighters."

A low voice echoed behind them in the stairwell. "Oh, that's nothing. You should see Joker put the Normandy through its paces in the gravitational pull of a dead Reaper. Or in a ship graveyard at the center of the galactic core. Much better exercise for the old girl."

Both women turned to see a scarred turian silently padding down the stairs. Garrus's eyepiece threw a touch of light in the already dark room while his other bare eye just glittered. _He always looks amused about something._

"Whaddya want, chicken legs?" Jack growled but offered the turian a hand. The two exchanged a quick handshake before backing against their respective walls. _Still trapped here, guys, _Samantha thought as now both stairwells were blocked from a hasty retreat.

Throwing his head in the direction of the stairs, Garrus shrugged. "I actually came down to lodge a complaint with Engineer Adams over power distribution to the main gun. It's throwing off my calibrations."

"You and your fucking calibrations."

"Indeed. Anyway, I heard your melodious voice, Jack, and thought I'd stop by and chat."

"Good to see you, Garrus. Your face still looks like shit."

"As charming as ever."

"Anyway," Sam tried to interject. Her cozy hideout had suddenly become very crowded. "You two probably have loads of catching up to do. I should probably go upstairs and check on—on… Shepard."

Jack turned to Garrus and smirked. "Wasn't that Thane's job? I mean, she **was** banging the drell, right?"

This juicy bit of gossip slammed on Sam's brakes. _Hmm. Go upstairs and probably have to go back to work? Or get all the details of the old SR-2 crew from a source that isn't Joker and his terrible sense of humor?_

It was weird to hear a turian guffaw like that. "You're kidding, right? Shepard and Thane?"

Shaking her head, Jack waved her hand. "What? I kept weird hours. I would hit the mess at like two in the morning and see her skulking out of his room in Life Support looking tired. Last I checked, that was code for Walk of Shame. You callin' me a liar?"

"_His" room? But I thought—after what I saw in that ANN vid… _Sam hated that she felt disheartened again. _You really need to cut this out. Because it's getting weird._

"Oh, I wouldn't say liar, per se," Garrus grinned. "Blind as a bat, though."

"Fuck you. What would you call it?"

"Let me put it this way. Shepard was more likely to do a Walk of Shame out of Samara's room than Thane's." He rotated his head in a circle a few times, waiting for the impact to sink in.

Laughing wildly, Jack threw her head back. "You're shitting me! ...Did she? Oh man! …actually, now I'm kind of offended. All that quality time we spent together blowing shit up, and she couldn't send any sugar my way? Not that I probably woulda gone for it, but it's nice to feel wanted. Am I right?" Jack winked and threw an elbow at Sam, who had unfortunately picked that moment to edge closer to the stairwell.

The awkward silence made Samantha feel like she had to contribute to the conversation. "Who was Samara?" She was rewarded with another elbow to the rib from Jack.

"Smokin' hot asari justicar matriarch." _Justicarch? Grow up, Sam._ "Kill you if you so much as looked at her. A little high and mighty for my liking."

Garrus chuckled and crossed his arms. "You just didn't like it that you probably made her List of People to Kill once the Collector mission was over. But no, Shepard didn't 'bang' Samara or Thane that I'm aware of. They were just slightly better conversationalists than your incredible range of 'fuck you' and 'I will destroy you.'"

"Suit yourself. I still like the old Shepard better. This Alliance stooge act is boring as fuck. Take me back to us punching reporters in the face and blowing up Collectors any day of the week. She was a hurricane, man. What the hell happened?"

Scratching his neck, Garrus brushed his fingers over the deep scar on his cheek. "A lot. I don't fully understand Shepard, either. On the SR-1, she was different, too. Good, I guess. Devoted to the cause. Kaidan dying rattled her. They were close. And after Cerberus brought her back… damn, I'd never seen her so angry. She was out of control. Probably why you two hit it off so well, Jack."

Sam heard a "damn right" from Jack but she was too busy studying Garrus's hooded expression. The turian looked... sad. "And now the Commander is trying to find a way to save us all from ourselves. Only time will tell if the Alliance Stooge, as you called her, or the Get It Done and Damn the Consequences Shepard is the better one. ...The truth is, I don't think **anyone** really knows Shepard."

"Did anyone... ever get close?" Samantha meant that broadly but found herself curious about the Specific, too. _If we're going to gossip, might as well go all the way, hm?_

Jack rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath that "My money was on the drell assassin" while Garrus fixed a hard stare on Sam. It made her uncomfortable, but she was a little surprised at how friendly overall the turian was. He probably made Samantha feel safer than Shepard did. His confidence was a relief, despite a conversation he'd had with Shepard that Xian had overheard and passed along.

He had admitted the turians should have listened to Shepard about the Reapers. That the turians weren't prepared. No one was. No one believed her. Three million turians lost the first day, five the second. _How many billions on Earth were dying right now?_

_Could only Shepard do this? Only an angry, wild Shepard?_

"Shepard's never really been an open, 'let's talk about our feelings and hug' sort of friend. She tells you enough, on her own time, in her way. Probably why she and Ashley got along so well. But she took Williams' healthy skepticism about Cerberus and the Collectors pretty hard. Shepard and Kaidan were brother and sister because of their biotics and tough childhood."

Jack was getting bored and fidgety with the conversation. She'd taken to levitating a crate before chiming in. "Blah blah. Me and Shepard got along just fine. No sloppy feelings, no group hugs. Just guns and fists and lots of bad guys."

"Truly a special relationship. Makes me cry just thinking about it," Garrus quipped sarcastically. He turned back to Samantha. "Liara was the only one to, shall we say, crack Shepard's code. At least that's what the rumors were on the SR1. I honestly couldn't tell you if they'd patched things up even after Shepard helped with Liara's... information problem a few months back."

_Shepard and T'Soni? Were an **item**?_ Unsure why that revelation was a little shocking, Samantha had to think back to how Shepard and Liara had interacted with one another. Even when things were more private in the Med Bay after the Lieutenant Commander had been brought in, they were tense. Strained. _I wonder what could have happened._

"Fucking yahgs, man," Jack agreed, though Sam had no idea what that could mean.

"Well, now that we've scared the hell out of the poor Specialist here, what do you say we retire to the Port Observation Deck for a quick drink? Assuming your teenage thugs haven't raided it already."

"Hell yes." Jack turned on her heel and started up the stairs with a jump. Turning back, Garrus extended a hand to Samantha. "Care to join us? Jack talks big, but she's really just a cuddly little varren puppy. With scale itch. ...honestly, you'll be a worse person every second you spend with her. It's part of the thrill."

Samantha laughed and nodded. It felt odd to just casually be invited out by a pair of deadly soldiers. But the opportunity to socialize, even a little, actually cheered Sam up immensely. For the first time in days.

"Oh and Princess?" the biotic stopped mid-stride but didn't turn around. "...Thanks for getting Shepard here. You did me and my kids a solid. I... owe you one."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_I am actually (re)playing ME3 on a renegade FemShep as I write. Fantastic for weaving in little nuggets of dialogue, but also a pain in the ass because I keep finding things I missed. I just (re)discovered Engineer Adams was part of the Normandy retrofits too, but my Edit for Accuracy regarding him is actually in the 4__th__ chapter. He and Steve are just so damn quiet and invisible during the Earth/Mars portion that they're easy to overlook._

_Also, the Citadel DLC had quite the slew of detail about Samantha. I had to make a list to start integrating in to the story. (Medical problems, verbal sexual harassment of EDI, a fondness for hot tubs… She's got it all, people!)_


	9. Play By The Rules

Trying to match shots with Jack turned out to be a mistake. Even Garrus, who had a limited amount of turian brandy to delve into, was a heartier drinker than Samantha. The headache was totally worth the conversation, at least. The turian and biotic took turns bragging about kills or hairy situations they'd escaped from by the skin of their teeth. Samantha was the counter argument to their mercenary lives, using each shot to boast about a difficult chess tournament or encryption she'd conquered. The nickname "Princess" converted to "Nerd" fairly quickly. "Princess Nerd" was still under consideration, though.

Commander Shepard had made a brief appearance in the Port Observation Deck. She seemed to savor the awkward silence her presence created, as well as the furtive glances at her jaw and cheek where a fist-shaped bruise had started to purple over the freckles. Taking the time to slowly pour a drink, sip deeply, and sigh had masked a lightning-quick biotic charge that laid Jack flat against the opposite wall.

Sam and Garrus had held their breaths while eyeballing the bar counter to hide behind. _What's the proper procedure for a biotic showdown in a confined space? Spray them with water? Curl up in the fetal position? Start praying and hope I get all the worst sins off my chest before I have to go towards the light? _Garrus's reaction was to laugh while Samantha stuck with freezing like a scared deer.

Five long seconds passed.

Until Jack just sat up, laughed, called Shepard a "fucker" and went straight back to drinking like nothing had happened.

Shepard raised her glass silently to her crew before downing it in one gulp. Turning on her heel, the Commander didn't say a word as she headed for the door. Sam was curious about, once again, receiving an almost-smile from her CO. That eye-crinkling, tight-mouthed Thing that passed for a smile from Commander Shepard. _I'll just chalk it up to an approval point? For… not being reduced to an attractive stain by Jack? _

…_Hopefully I'm farther ahead in the polls than where I started when, you know, I shot at my commanding officer._

The sleeper pod was a welcome sight after that night (_morning? Ugh, what the hell time is it these days?)_ though the shift change the following morning was not. Jack had the audacity to play a drum solo on Samantha's bathroom stall partition before she escorted her collection of students to rendezvous with the SSV Hastings.

_I wish the price of being One of the Crew required less face time with a urinal. _

_But still. Worth it._

While resources and diplomats were still being gathered for the War Summit, the presence of Cerberus on Alliance turf had lit a fire in Shepard. The Commander wanted to strike back and strike back hard. She brushed aside a request from Primarch Victus in favor of a mission from Admiral Hackett where rumored Cerberus facilities had been discovered on Sanctum. Clear on the other side of the galaxy. Hitting every relay with minimal time for a mass effect field recalibration still put ETA at nearly a week.

Strangely enough, Samantha was in decent spirits. Even with the long, uneventful travel time ahead, a veil of insecurity had lifted with the hangover. A new sense of purpose. _Although I am a glorified secretary, at least I was able to find Grissom Academy. Maybe... maybe there's more to helping the war effort than with only bullets and biotics. _The tangled web of QEC feeds were tackled and probed and mapped with renewed enthusiasm.

On the fifth travel day, Sam found herself in the mess laughing with Diana Allers. The reporter was telling a lewd story about a particularly scummy politician when EDI's voice came over the intercom. "The Commander has requested the assistance of all off-duty crew members who worked on the Normandy retrofits. Please report to the Mess Hall on the Crew Deck immediately."

"Well. That's oddly specific," Diana observed dryly. She took a last bite of her nutrient bar. "Probably time to haze the new guys. Let me know if you end up in the Shuttle Bay scrubbing the Kodiak with a toothbrush. Hopefully naked. It's not hazing unless someone's naked." Rubbing a thumb along her lip to sweep away an errant crumb, Allers stood up and leaned over the table to favor Sam with a glare.

"You'd tell me if there was naked hazing, right? Promise me you'll tell me about the hazing. Naked. Hazing."

Samantha scoffed and took another swig of honeyed tea. "Your one-track mind aside, I shan't be informing you of any goings-on between captain and crew. I also have no desire to make it on Battlespace's blooper reel to improve morale. Find your own ass-shots, Allers."

Diana tossed her hair with an airy "Suit yourself" before heading around the corner to the elevator. Sam heard her say a hello just as Engineer Adams entered the mess. He mumbled his way to the half-full coffee pot and poured a full cup. Not bothering with cream or sugar, Gregory took a deep swallow which decayed into coughing. "Ugh, God. Campbell make the coffee again?"

Snickering, Sam nodded. "The good Private is nothing if not dedicated to having coffee on hand every second of every day. The trick is getting her to stop being so helpful. Miss Allers has suggested breaking her legs."

"I'm for something more drastic. Poison?" Specialist Xian offered as he sat down next to Samantha. Adams agreed. Engineer Rashad was among the last to trickle in, and was shouted away from reaching for the coffee pot.

"What are we talking about?"

The room stilled as Private Sarah Campbell strolled in cheerfully. Everyone exchanged a guilty look before bursting out laughing. "We were theorizing the best way to tell you we find your coffee… abhorrent, Campbell," Sam grinned. _No point in being petty and sniping behind her back._

Sarah's face turned bright red, and for a moment the crew feared she was either going to shoot them all (_as the only current retrofit member registered to carry a weapon aboard the ship) _or storm out. Instead, Campbell smirked.

"Serves you lazy assholes right. Learn to make another pot and I won't have to!"

Before they could chuckle, Specialist Douglas stood up stiffly and saluted.

"Officer on deck!"

It was pure instinct, conditioned from many hours spent on a hot strip of pavement with a drill sergeant barking in their ears. The only sound was the scraping of chairs as two engineers, four specialists and one private jerked to their feet, formed up in a line, and swung their fingertips to their temples.

Striding in swiftly sporting the rolled up sleeves of the more casual service uniform, Commander Shepard tersely returned salute. "At ease. …and don't worry. No one is in trouble. This is just an informal request. I'm looking for help from any of the crew stationed on the Normandy while I was …detained."

Sam suddenly felt her wrist warm up, and the orange interface of her Omni-tool glowed with an incoming message. _Bollocks. Not now. _She shook it off and tried to focus on the Commander working her way over to the coffee pot. Xian exchanged a nervous look with Sam as Shepard poured a small cup for herself. _Oh... no. Ew. _

"I just need a volunteer to help me sift through some of the cargo and retrieve some personal effects that still might be aboard."

Another ping to Samantha's Omni-tool. And another. Shepard's back was turned as she paced along to the end of the row, giving Sam a few seconds to steal a glance at her Omni-tool. _What? What is it?_

[Message received: "Naked yet?"]  
[Message received: "You promised. Okay you didn't, but you're still going to tell me."]  
[Message received: "NAKED. NAKED NAKED NAKED NAKED."]

_God__** damn**__ it, Allers._

"Any takers?"

Samantha dropped her wrist just as Shepard turned back around. She stood up straight but said nothing. _Nothing personal, Commander. Old army rule: "Never volunteer."_

"Thanks for volunteering, Specialist Traynor," Shepard nodded with satisfaction.

_Wait. What? How—?_

Glancing behind her, Sam saw what happened. Every last one of her dear, dear Normandy friends had taken a small step backwards, leaving a hapless comms specialist the only one standing out front. The perfect oblivious victim.

_I. Hate. All of you._

Shepard saluted briefly again. "Dismissed, the rest of you. Specialist Traynor, come with me." Her coffee cup again crept closer to her lips, but the Commander used it to gesture to the retreating crew. "Not exciting work by any means, but I promise I'll get you something nice to reward overtime. I just really need someone familiar with where the Alliance put everything."

Sam's eyes couldn't help but follow that black poison disguised as coffee but she said nothing. Nodding, Samantha sighed deeply and try to push away the insincerity. "Anything I can do to help, Commander." _Right. _"Actually, I think I have seen some crates marked 'A. Shepard' around the Normandy."

"We'll cover more ground if we split up. I'll start in the Shuttle Bay and you start with Engineering? Meet back in the mess at 21:30?" Shepard gestured at the table in front of them.

Samantha politely saluted in acknowledgement. Again, Shepard started to take a sip of that dreadful coffee. _I can't in good conscience let her do that. _Squeaking a little as her voice was higher than normal, Sam interrupted. "I—beg your pardon, ma'am. But, um…" _Think, Traynor. _"What exactly are we looking for?"

The Commander stiffened slightly, but didn't drink at least. "That's private, Specialist. Please just inform me of what and where you find any items belonging to me and I'll go through them at my leisure."

_Oh, is that how it is, hmm? _Successfully not reacting to Shepard's stern tone, Samantha nodded and spun on her heel. Rounding the corner to the elevator, Sam stopped and leaned against the wall to listen. She heard Shepard mumble to herself then a distinct slurping sound.

Followed by a hacking choke and a trail of curse words.

_Don't cross me, Commander, _Sam thought smugly as she tapped the button to call the lift. Exiting at Deck 4, she paused to consider where to start. _I don't think I've checked out the starboard cargo hold... And the port cargo contains the insufferable Miss Allers._

_Right. Starboard it is._

Other than a few empty tables along the walls, the room was stark and boring. Some cables ended abruptly at the center of the room. Discarded leftovers from the previous occupant, a genetically-engineered krogan in a tank. No boxes that look like they might belong to Shepard.

Sighing in defeat, Samantha headed back into the hallway. She glanced out the interior window that showed the Shuttle Bay stretched out below. Lieutenant Vega was at his pull-up bar like always while Steve Cortez was still on duty and thus avoiding the goose chase. Cortez had a blowtorch in hand and was focused on an open panel on the Kodiak's wing. A blur of red revealed Shepard rummaging through the stacks of cargo crates along the starboard wall.

A few containers were kicked behind her, and Sam could just make out "Property of A. Shepard" stamped along their sides. _Well, at least this won't take as long as I feared. Still doesn't look like she's found whatever it is she's after, though._

Continuing her circuit of the engineering deck, Samantha jogged to the drive core area for another look. Other than consoles and the evening shift engineer (_Colman? Colbert? Col-something), _the heart of the ship was completely empty.

_Bugger._

She was just about to leave when she passed by the lower stairwell. A fleeting memory touched Sam's mind, encouraging her to descend to the bowels of the Normandy. Rounding the corner at the foot of the stairs, she spied her old cot hideout. Piled in the corner were three large crates, all with Shepard's name stamped on them.

_Victory! I knew I'd seen this shit somewhere._

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Samantha ran a thumb over the topmost box's clasp and popped it off. Upon cracking the lid, she discovered—!

_What? Seriously? _

Haphazardly jumbled atop one another was about seven to eight model ships. Sam recognized some of them, but not well enough to actually remember their names. One was definitely a geth ship, another looked asari, and there was one oversized Reaper toy that sent a shiver up Sam's spine.

It was hard to believe Commander Shepard collected toys. The sullen, serious, hard-ass Commander… fancied model ships. It was even harder to imagine Shepard at her desk in her cabin, painstakingly piecing these together one by one.

Heartened by this silly discovery, Samantha heaved the box aside and dug in to the next, which turned out to be a boring footlocker of outfits. Mostly variations on the casual uniform, but all of these bore the orange Cerberus logo on the sleeve. There was also some formal wear and even a few under garments. Sam couldn't help but giggle as she held up one of the Shepard's bras to herself to see what size she was.

_Looks like the armor is hiding more than just a pretty face. _

The third box was a special containment unit for several breeds of fish. The autofeeder was getting low, so the little guys weren't long for this world unless they got back into their fish tank. There was a chit attached to the fish …box… indicating it was to be released to the Alliance Wildlife Society upon permission from "Lt Ventura, V." For the first time in a long time, Samantha didn't bristle at the memory of being scolded for failing to get rid of this stuff at Ventura's request.

_God rest you, Lieutenant. At least Shepard can have her stuff back. Maybe fish and toy ships will be the morale boost to turn the Commander into a superhero to destroy all the Reapers._

Pondering the best way to haul this shit to the elevator with her admittedly lacking upper body strength, Sam turned when she heard a familiar squeak. The hamster she'd discovered (_when was that? Christ, it's been nearly a week. How is this little guy not dead?) _was running dizzying figure eights along the floor.

_Maybe he's what Shepard is looking for. I think your approval rating will go through the roof if you return him, Traynor._

_I concur._

She slid some sort of turian cruiser model out of its box (_it's no longer in mint condition, Sam!)_ then perched herself above the cot with the box raised. It took a minute or two of studying the rodent's scurrying before Samantha felt confident enough to pounce. Missing the first four times, she finally corralled the hamster on the fifth. Its little nails scratching on the box set Sam's teeth on edge, but she closed the lid.

Then opened the lid to poke some air holes. _You know, so you don't present Commander Shepard with a dead rat and expect a raise. _Also worrying about how warm Socks (_his cute little white feet look like socks!)_ would be in just a box, Samantha rummaged around in her pockets. A brightly colored handkerchief, fresh from the laundry, seemed like a good fit.

_My dust allergy will just have to suck it up until I go back to my locker for another. And, hopefully, mum won't mind I'm donating a piece of my Indian heritage to warm a rat. I have a dozen more, after all. What's one hanky?_

Sam was admittedly pretty pleased with herself at this point. Not only had she found boxes full of Commander Shepard's stuff, but there was still 15 minutes to spare. But, unwilling to accept accusations about not being thorough, Samantha even poked her head in Allers' door. "Hey, pervert."

"Hey. You don't look naked. Did you get kicked out of the sorority already? I **told** you."

"Yes, yes. I know. Naked."

"Naked," Diana repeated with a satisfied nod from her recline on her bed. Scanning the reporter's horrendously messy quarters, Sam politely asked if Allers had any items in this pig sty that belonged to the Commander. Diana shot up from her bed and looked around hungrily, but was disappointed that she wasn't sitting on top of a treasure trove of Normandy contraband. Samantha darted out the door before having to endure another conversation about nudity.

Holding the box behind her, Sam stepped off the lift on Deck 3 and was about to round the corner to the mess when a spark of light from the Starboard Observation Deck caught her eye.

_There it is again._

She padded over to the observation deck entrance and peeked in. Sprawled on her back on the center couch was Commander Shepard. The blue spark of light was, in fact, a baseball; a baseball swimming lazily around the room with the help of biotics.

"Am I late?" Sam inquired lightly as she set Socks' box down out of sight below the desk. Shepard's head dropped to the side to look at Sam, but she continued to wiggle her fingers and send the ball dancing.

"No." No undertone or anger. Just a simple statement.

Samantha watched the biotic display for a few more seconds before she realized. "This is what you were looking for, wasn't it? Not fish or model ships… which you have, by the way. Below the engineering deck in droves."

A long pause. "Yes."

Standing uncertainly, Sam suddenly felt out of place. This was so unlike the Commander. To just be still. She didn't look happy or sad, but instead almost meditative. Shepard always seemed so active, bulldozing her way from one battle to the next. It was hard to picture her collecting toys or feeding fish or playing baseball.

And yet, here she was.

Samantha cleared her throat, trying to get some indication if Shepard wanted her to leave. "You look preoccupied, ma'am. I'll come back later."

"Show me how you'd throw a baseball," Shepard neutrally demanded, flipping the small ball at Sam while sitting upright on the couch.

"What? Now?"

"Right now, Specialist."

_Oh, this can only end well_, Sam mused sarcastically as she backed away from Shepard_. Six to one odds I crack the window and breach the hull. Three point five to one I pop Shepard in the face and require yet another apology. Two to one I throw it behind me like a bloody idiot._

_Traynor, when your CO says jump, you just ask how high. _

"Now, try not to be **too** blown away by my obvious athleticism, Commander. You still have a war to fight and require complete use of your mental faculties."

…_Did she just smile? Because I said something funny, or the idea of me throwing a baseball correctly is downright hilarious?_

_One thing at a time, Traynor._

Drawing from a blurry memory of a Little Samantha Traynor on a playground on Horizon, Big Samantha Traynor set her feet apart and rolled the ball around in her fingers. After finding a comfortable grip along the worn red stitching, Sam twisted her body while raising a leg and shoulder to put some real power behind that throw.

The baseball sailed in a light arc across the short observation deck. Before it could reach Shepard's left shoulder, a flare of biotic blue suspended the ball inches in front of Shepard, who hadn't even moved. The crinkle of a smile at the edges of her eyes and lips broke the surface into actual approval.

Not at all upset that her subordinate had (_once again)_ attempted to strike her, Commander Shepard politely golf-clapped. "Well done, Traynor. If you ever get tired of saving lives one QEC feed at a time, you really should get in shape for the women's league. I hear New Canton has a great team."

"_You really should get in shape"?! _Sam smirked at the jibe. _Tell me how you __**really**__ feel, Commander. Your subtlety is just incredible. _"I'll have you know, Commander, that I meet the bare minimum sit-up, pull-up and push-up standards the Alliance requires. I am in positively fighting shape… to sit at a console all day."

Ignoring Samantha's quip, Shepard thoughtfully asked, "What do you know about biotics, Traynor?" Samantha straightened stiffly, but thought a moment. _Is this a loaded question?_

"Dreadfully little, ma'am. Most kids on my colony were sent to the Ascension Project when biotic ability was discovered, and the biotics on Arcturus…" _Deep breath. Don't cry now. Push through it. _"…the biotics in R&D had their own facilities and projects separate from the QEC team. Very little crossover."

"Come here." Shepard crossed the room while flicking the hovering ball into her open right hand. She mimicked the throwing stance Samantha had used, but froze in place, body partially twisted and right elbow akimbo.

"You see this empty space between my elbow and chest? This is where you pull from when you make a throw, right?" At Sam's nod, Shepard continued, "That's pretty much what biotics do. You're pulling from within and flowing it beyond yourself. Just like throwing a baseball.

"You feel out of control for a few seconds as you twist and push your momentum outside of your body. It starts here," Shepard gestured at the empty space again, then made a slow-motion throw. First the wrist cradled the ball across her chest and pulled back. Once her hand was at a right angle to her bicep, Shepard propelled the hand forward, snapping the wrist back as the arm fully extended in front of her. Biotic blue threads flicker like static along the arm.

"And it's not just the arm," she added, letting go and allowing her biotics to gently push the ball in a whimsical spiral before dropping it to the floor. "The fingers are important, too."

Shepard splayed her hand outward, looking as though she were reaching for Sam. Samantha had the tiniest of urges to step forward and thread her fingers through that warm invitation.

_Are you barking mad?_

"If your hand is open during a throw, you sacrifice precision for surface area. You can hit a wider target with less force. But, if your fingers are together…" Trailing off, Shepard brought her fingers together in a tight knife of a hand. "You get power. Control. Force."

Splayed hand. "Defense." Knife hand. "Offense."

_What's this about? A free lesson? Has she been thinking about Grissom Academy and biotics' role in the war? _Sam's mind filled with questions, most of them too personal to ask outright. Because despite the formality of Shepard's tone, there was something… vulnerable… about her. Like she was trying to say something but using the baseball bit to say it.

_I just wish I knew what it meant._

Samantha cleared her throat. "Yes—well… should I ever develop any latent biotic talent after a 26-year absence, I will be sure to sign up for Commander Shepard's Baseball Metaphor Biotics 101." At Shepard's exhale of amusement, a beast within Sam crowed. It wanted to hear Shepard laugh. For once.

_Challenge accepted._

"…And then when I want to learn biotics properly, I will ask Jack."

That did it.

It wasn't long or deep, but a simple staccato of chuckles from deep within Shepard's throat. The laugh lasted less than five seconds, but it had transformed the soldier into something resembling a woman finally. Her entire body shook while her head dipped, allowing those deep red locks to swing and dance around her cheeks. A smile wrinkled Shepard's freckled nose and creased her brow in a relieved way, and she seemed surprised that she was still capable of such a feat as laughter.

"You've got that right, Traynor. But in Jack's class, you're liable to get your ass kicked. Literally."

_It's nice to know that despite their exchange of face punches, Shepard and Jack did have a mutual respect for one another._

Retrieving the baseball, Shepard dropped down to the couch once again and put it back in spinning orbit around her. Sam had another million questions, most of them about where the hell a baseball had come from. But it didn't seem proper to interrupt the Commander when she looked so… so…

_Yes, where __**are**__ you going with this thought, Traynor?_

_Shut it._

Not waiting to be dismissed, Samantha backed away slowly. She was about to scarper when she spotted the box with the hamster by the desk. Scooping it up, Sam crept back up to Shepard and held the box out.

"I found something else. I found little Socks here running amok in the engineering basement."

"Socks?" Shepard stood up and peeked inside the box. The hamster was fast asleep on its handkerchief nest. Her brow furrowed with confusion before she glanced up at Sam. "Holy shit, I thought the Alliance had left him to rot in some evidence locker. Or dumped him out an airlock. I can't believe you found him."

The Commander's look of surprise was probably more unsettling than her anger. She accepted the creature and cradled the box protectively while shifting the baseball to her box-hand. Sticking a free hand slightly inside, Shepard wiggled an index finger that the now-awake hamster sniffed curiously. That slight smile again.

_Two best friends, together at last. I wish I could take a vid of this to remember by._

"May I ask what the hamster's name really is?"

A full grin this time. Positively radiant. "Actually, I think I like Socks better."

"Socks it is, ma'am."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_Time to crack that shell a little. _

_So you might be thinking "Ren! You scoundrel! Two chapters over one week! Way to stop being lazy!"_

_Actually… It's more of an apology. See, my work is ramping up and requiring a bunch of travel over the next two weeks. Damn day job. It's tough being awesome. I won't have much time to be near a 360, which I require to play in order to continue the next bit. _

_So… yea. Cheers!_


	10. Multitasking

"I don't mean to be rude. But if I put you on hold, it's not because I love you any less. It's because I'm kind of trying to not die."

[Call muted]

Priya Suresh-Traynor grimaced in horror on Samantha's tiny vid. It was an appropriate reaction to the larger frame this call to her mother was windowed in: muzzle flashes and smoke surrounding a constant stream of Cerberus soldiers. _Thank God mum can't see this. She'd flip out. At least her special girl is a few thousand kilometers above Sanctum aboard a spaceship?_

_Oh. Shit. She probably won't find the whole "trying to not die" comment cheeky or endearing._

_Note to self: know your audience._

If that wasn't enough, Samantha Traynor was attempting some truly incredible multitasking at this very moment.

Task the first: fending off Cerberus engineers from hacking Shepard's team comms. The tight Cerberus compound had a lot of entry points and the enemy was trying to flank Shepard, Vega and EDI at every turn. This was on top of reclaiming their Reaper technology under lock and key at the facility. Technology that the Commander was attempting to steal. _For all the right reasons, of course._

The view through the hard suit camera of "Shepard, A" was very jostly. And every time the Commander did a biotic charge, Sam felt the mango protein bar in her stomach get irritated. It was keen on coming back up to give Samantha a talkin'-to. Especially every time she saw that split-second zoom in from a six meter distance to less than one, with a Cerberus helmet filling the screen before a biotic fist slammed it away. _Ugh. If I didn't know better I'd say she was enjoying herself._

On top of this pair of vids was a constantly updating diagnostic feed. Not Sam's normal QEC comms for updating the galaxy map, either. This new feed was her other piece of heartburn for the Sanctum mission: Sam was attempting to help EDI on her first combat mission.

Task the second: calibrating EDI's mech body in active combat. _Which would be bloody impossible if she weren't helping. Maintaining an evolving algorithm so Cerberus can't track or block her broadcast to the body while also providing constant updates to enemy positions is just… a treat. Couldn't we have done this in a nice, controlled environment? Like the Shuttle Bay? Or the loo?_

Task the third…

[Call active]

"Okay, mum, I'm back. Forgive me for being a little …distracted," Sam meekly retorted. Her fingers were flying over her console, and under normal circumstances she would just tell her mother to call her back. But the QEC connection across the galaxy had been bloody awful for the past week with the massive influx of distress calls so a dropped call would take hours, if not days, to reattempt. Making this one call alone had Samantha pulling out every trick in her R&D arsenal.

_Torrent real time data feed through the Terminus relay network. Open back door comms on Alliance networks. Set up comm buoys to relay signal. Overlay algorithm to boost signal. Layer feed with encryption suite to maintain security. And somehow manage to have a calm, sincere conversation with mum while also fending off Cerberus hackers and running diagnostics on a mech._

_I hope Commander Shepard has a generous pay grade system, because surely this counts as overtime. That Cision Pro Mark-4 isn't going to buy itself._

"Are you certain you're all right? I can call you back if need be," Priya asked with a frown. A trio of lines formed around her eyebrows with concern. A trio of blips appeared on Sam's radar as she swiped at her screens. _Incoming Cerberus fighters. Wait, four fighters. Update Cortez with the extraction coordinates._

"I'm fine!" Squeaking, Samantha cleared her throat and tried again more calmly. "…I'm fine. Just some pesky scrubber programs wreaking havoc on my feeds' real time updates. Trust me, mum, I didn't spend two hours jury-rigging this call just to try again later." _Well, more like four. Unless I want to forgo sleep tonight, I don't have another four hours to try this shit again. _

Priya raised an eyebrow. "Well, as long as you're sure. Things are pretty quiet back home at least. Your father is getting ready for yet another city council meeting. They've updated our evacuation protocols again. We have another evac drill tonight."

Noticing some hostile code nosing its way into EDI's diagnostic feed, Sam fought back with a boost to the firewall. "Sounds like Horizon is prepared for the worst. Has there been any Reaper activity in your neck of the Terminus?"

"Thank heavens, no. Another colony went dark, though. Tiptree. I haven't been able to make contact with my cousin Amisha or her husband, but she said she was taking her family to the Citadel a week ago. Do you—do you know if there's a way to see if she made it there safe?"

Cortez's comm signal spiked, and Sam could hear in her earpiece a frantic exchange about how hot the extraction point was. The cut to Vega's camera also revealed the thin strip of landing platform crawling with Cerberus soldiers carrying shields. "Unfortunately, the Normandy hasn't docked at the Citadel in almost two weeks. It's up to Commander Shepard to tell us where to go, and she's been on a tear lately," Samantha evaded with a sigh. _I'm pretty sure that information is locked down tight at the Alliance embassy. If just anyone could pull up docking manifests and passenger logs, organized crime would probably go through the roof on the Citadel. _

Sam's mother frowned for a second. "Oh, okay. Well, I'll send you her IP. Maybe you'll have better luck the next time you go to the Citadel." Priya tucked her gray black hair behind her ears. "Sammy. Were you keeping up with your sessions? Before… you know…"

"Mum…"

"I know you hate it when I ask. I'm not nagging you, I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay. Especially being so far from home."

Samantha sighed. Shepard and team had made it back to the shuttle. EDI was running her own post-combat diagnostic. All of Sam's tasks had taken care of themselves in rapid succession. Now she had to actually talk to her mother.

About why she hadn't been seeing her counselor.

"I was busy. With the retrofits. I was seeing someone." _Isabella… _Sam shook her head. _Not going through __**that**__ right now. _"I haven't had a nightmare in over a month." _About Horizon, anyway. _"So no. I missed a couple sessions with Dr. Harper before Earth—before I left."

Priya was silent. She chewed her lip before carefully picking her words. "After all you saw… do you think—are you okay, Samantha? Please don't answer right away just to tell me what I want to hear. I'm asking you, sweetie: are you okay?"

Tilting her head back, Sam closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths and tried to clear her mind. Her mental to-do list was still circling, as was a chess move she'd been working on in her downtime.

_There it is. _There weren't screams in this buried memory, just hushed whispering. It had grown blurry after almost a year and even managed to fade some. All the noisy chaos aboard the Normandy tended to overshadow that long day ten months ago on Horizon. With the whispering, hiding and terror. Arcturus had been far worse, since the R&D section was quiet and the dorms secluded. Too much quiet and too much time to think.

_Well, if that doesn't sound like denial, I don't know what does, Traynor._

"For all intents and purposes, mum," Sam hesitated as she looked back down at her mother on her vid screen. "…I'm all right. There's been some occasional sobbing in the girls' washroom, especially right after what happened on Earth, but I'm keeping busy. I'm making a difference here. One day at a time, right?"

"One day at a time," Priya Suresh-Traynor repeated. _The psychologist's favorite trite bullshit advice._

Her mother stood up straighter. "I wish you would come home, Sammy. A lot of people have been moving to that bunker. Sanctuary? I think it's called? I've been trying to convince your father that we should go there, but he insists on the evac drills and the city council meetings and the normalcy. He says squatters will move in to our house and trample my flower beds and draw moustaches on our family photos. The worst thing imaginable, he says," Priya said with a smile. Her imitation of her husband was a little gruff and sarcastic, but full of affection.

Samantha dryly agreed. "Truly horrific. The Great Moustachening on Horizon would live forever in infamy." An incoming message distracted her. Finally, the salarian dalatrass had agreed to the terms of the war summit. _A full house. The turian primarch, krogan war chief and salarian dalatrass. _"Mum? I need to update the galaxy map and report to my CO. I'll send you an email later. With pictures this time. You know I'm dreadful about taking pictures."

"I didn't see your college dorm 'til you were a junior," Priya remembered with a shake of her head. Her salt and pepper bangs came loose from their safety behind her ears. "It's a mother thing. We like to know our children aren't living in squalor and know how to make the bloody bed once in awhile. To prove we didn't completely fail as parents."

Chuckling, Sam ran her finger behind her ears. _Dammit, now you've got me doing it. _"Well, I share a sleeper pod with the entire female crew, so you'll have to evaluate my hospital corners technique some other time. But I'll take a nice holo of me looking productive and responsible. Not sloppy drunk and hanging from the drive core like a stripper."

"So not like your after graduation party? Excellent. Make mummy proud, Sam." Priya was pretty damn funny when she wasn't a nervous wreck. _Horizon must be doing well if mum is in such a good mood. All things considered._

"I love yous" were exchanged just as EDI announced over the intercom that the Kodiak had docked with everyone safe and sound.

_All's well that ends well._

Sam cracked her neck and yawned deeply. A few keystrokes updated the holographic galaxy map. A glowing blue circle appeared around the Annos Basin system, indicating it was ready for Shepard to investigate at her leisure. Satisfied her shift was in a good enough place for a break, Samantha logged out of her system and turned to the elevator. _10 minutes for a trip to the loo and the kitchen should be enough of a refresher. Then it's five long hours 'til my shift's over. Must resist the urge to repurpose the galaxy map for that Star Battle MMO I was playing awhile back. _

EDI greeted Sam as the elevator opened. They exchanged pleasantries while Samantha did a cursory examination of the mech. _Surprisingly little wear and tear, considering the amount of gun-wielding lunatics down on Sanctum. The Evil Sciences Division of Cerberus at least knew how to make mechs last. _EDI politely thanked Sam for her efforts, and indicated the mech's performance was satisfactory to Commander Shepard for continued deployment.

_A smashing success. Now I really need to pee._

Humming quietly along to the elevator music, Sam was feeling slightly better about—

"Nope. You're coming with me."

"I—What?"

Before Sam could even process what had happened, Diana had burst into the elevator on the Crew Deck, herded Sam back and hit the button for Engineering. She was holding a nutrient bar in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, but her expression was intense and focused.

"May I ask what—"

"Shhhh—shush—shush… You'll see in a second."

"But I have to pee. Fiercely."

"You can pee any time."

"…in about three minutes, you have no idea how right you are," Samantha grumbled. The number "4" for Engineering finally blinked on and Sam was shooed out the door by a crazy woman wielding tea. She started to make her way to Allers' room (_bloody hell, just get this over with)_, but the reporter stopped her.

"No, stupid. Look out the damn window."

Below in the Shuttle Bay were two lone soldiers.

Beating the shit out of each other.

James Vega and Commander Shepard had stripped off some of their armor, leaving their lower armor and shin guards still on while their upper bodies were comically devoid of clothing. They looked absurdly bottom heavy with heavy plate below thin Alliance tank tops and bare arms. Both soldiers were bouncing and weaving, fists held up near their faces in readiness. The whole scene was accented by clouds of smoke and steam from the cooling down Kodiak beside them.

"How did you even—didn't they just get back literally a minute ago?"

"I know, right! Cortez told me about it when he was hitting the mess. My inner and outer reporter would never forgive myself if I missed Lieutenant Vega picking a fight with Commander Shepard. I wish I could get down there with my camera. …actually…" And just like that, Allers vanished. She reappeared a moment later with her camera drone hovering beside her. There was a glistening wet spot on the metal hallway where she had spilled some tea in hurry.

Vega and Shepard weren't quite in a throw-down, drag-out brawl. They kept taking measured swings and jabs, giving the other an opportunity to block. But a few fists had struck home. A dribble of blood trickled down James' chin, a souvenir from his fat lower lip. Shepard was sporting a moustache of red on her upper lip from a jab to her freckled nose.

Samantha watched the spectacle for a few more seconds, but she didn't share Diana's giddy glee. Actually, Sam was pretty concerned. Vega and Shepard seemed to get along. _He's been on pretty much every mission since we left Earth, so she trusts him in combat at least?_

_So what the hell happened?_

She turned to Allers, who was still grinning with intrigue and sipping her tea. "Did Steve say what they were fighting about?"

"Dissention in the ranks. The lieutenant was critical of the commander's priorities. And not helping Earth. Apparently this is how Shepard handles insubordination." Diana's oversimplified explanation sounded suspect to Sam. _Sure, Vega was pretty grouchy about running to the Citadel, but…_

"While I have an appropriate level of shame to know this is wrong… I wish we could hear what they were saying."

Allers fired up her Omni-tool and laughed. "I thought you'd never ask!"

"What? I didn't! …did you bug the Shuttle Bay?" Samantha's jaw dropped in horror.

Sniffing with disdain, Allers waved Sam off. "You slander me. I'm not a **spy**, Traynor. I'm a reporter. I was interviewing Cortez before they headed down to Sanctum and left my extra mic on the workbench. I'm just putting it to good use." She twisted and adjusted some icons on the glowing orange interface.

"—who says I'm blaming myself?" Vega's shout crackled over Diana's Omni-tool.

A few grunts from Shepard matched her hard swings below. "I do. That stunt back on Mars was reckless. You're lucky to be alive."

Vega bobbed and weaved, accepting a few punches to his hard abdomen with little effort. "So?"

"So maybe you don't care if you live or die."

Pressing back with jabs to Shepard's face, Vega scoffed. "So you're a shrink now? That's a laugh coming from **you**. How many days have we spent chasing Cerberus because you've got a bug up your ass about 'em? Throwing our lives away on Cerberus now? I thought we were fighting for Earth."

"You're out of line," Shepard growled as a punch slammed into her cheek, splitting it open. She staggered back, but leaned forward and lunged with a pair of heavy crosses.

"Am I? Maybe **I'm** just willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to end this God damn war!" Sputtering as Shepard's fists connected with his face, Vega dropped his hands and stood up straight. "…Are you?"

Rubbing the fresh bruise on her cheek, Shepard crossed her arms. "More than you'll ever know. But if you sacrifice yourself, or **my** ship, needlessly:** that's** unacceptable."

Samantha chewed on her lip. She wasn't one to take sides, but part of her thought… Vega was right. They'd brushed off the war summit ever since Grissom Academy. Shepard's attitude had ranged from manic to that weird calm in the Starboard Observation Deck yesterday. She was on the verge of frenzy, and this legendary focus that was so part of Shepard's reputation had been absent.

Vega snarked a thanks for the pep talk, and tore off the rest of his armor before mumbling about hitting the showers. Shepard remained in the Shuttle Bay, and Allers' mic didn't pick up anything other than shuffling footsteps.

_What, were you hoping the Commander would start monologuing her feelings to the Kodiak?_

Diana's loud exhale broke Sam's concentration. The reporter was on her Omni-tool, while static-laced snippets of the previous conversation trickled out as she fast forwarded and rewound.

_This is none of our business._

Gritting her teeth, Sam was suddenly protective. "What are you going to do with that footage, Allers?"

Not answering right away, Diana's head turned to Samantha but her eyes remained on her Omni-tool. She shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. Doesn't really fit into any of my Battlespace segments. Not terribly motivational when it comes to the war effort either, but could be a juicy exposé once this is all over."

Sam slapped a hand over Allers' wrist. "Delete it. Now."

"What did you say?"

"I said you're erasing that footage. Right now, Allers." The two women glared at each other. Sam was never usually this ballsy. Confrontation made her queasy, and there was already that lurching jolt in her stomach the longer Samantha stared Diana down. Her forehead started to sweat and she wanted so badly to look away. Letting her hand drop from Allers' wrist, Sam had to clench her fists to keep them from shaking.

Diana stuck her lower lip out defiantly and raised an eyebrow. Then nodded with a sigh. "All right."

"All right?"

"I'll delete it."

"Really?"

Allers chuckled and punched Sam lightly on the arm. "Really. You're right. I'm a guest here. Shepard already doesn't like me on her ship, I'm not gonna rock the boat. I don't want to be tossed out of the airlock just for some stupid bullshit story that isn't even a story. So yea." An orange glow danced over Allers' face as she fired up her Omni-tool, but Sam was still studying her to see if she was lying.

"Stop glaring at me, Traynor. You can have EDI poke through my shit if you don't believe me. Just keep her off my extranet bookmarks. What I do in my free time is none of that AI's business," Diana laughed airily. She punched Sam on the arm again, before frowning. "Are we cool?"

Leaning back, Samantha crossed her arms. She was waiting for her heart to slow down a little before answering. _Thank God she backed down. I probably would have thrown up on her shoes. Or peed on them. _"We're cool, Allers."

She glanced out the window to see Shepard leaning over the crates. Her arms were straight out and braced against the cargo while her head hung down. All Sam could see were sculpted shoulder muscles and a tangled mess of red hair. "Do you think—is Shepard all right? Should I go check?"

A lilting laugh came from behind Sam. "Your funeral. First you'll have to explain how you know why she's in such a shitty mood. And if you sell me out, Traynor, I will start putting hidden cameras on the Crew Deck and start a vid blog titled 'How many times does Specialist Traynor pick her nose in a day?' …Or any other myriad of unlady-like things you might do. The extranet has a huge fetish following, so you'll probably end up a star."

"Tempting, but no thanks. I promise I won't name drop you."

"Again, your funeral. My tea is cold. And I thought you had to pee?"

Samantha turned around just as the elevator doors were closing. _Thanks for waiting for me. …whore. _It was close to a minute before the elevator reappeared empty. Hesitating over the buttons, Sam sighed and hit the glowing "5." _I'm a sucker for punishment. Plus if I can stand up to Diana's temper, Shepard's should be a piece of cake._

_Right?_

Deciding to at least give herself a buffer, Sam paged Dr. Chakwas to the Shuttle Bay. She got an immediate response.

[Message received: "w/ a patient atm, b there ~5min."]

_She writes like a bloody teenager._

The doors opened to reveal Shepard still at her vigil against the cargo area in the middle of the bay. As Sam tiptoed around the weapon benches and armor locker, movement caught her eye. Several crates in a semi-circle around the Commander were laced with a crackle of biotic blue. They hovered uncertainly, gripped but loose.

"Commander?" _I need an excuse to say something. Think, Traynor, think. _"You have a new message at your private terminal."

Surprisingly, that actually worked. Shepard looked at Sam over her bent elbow. She blew an errant wisp of red hair out of her eyes and nodded tersely. The hovering crates were suddenly released and banged against the metal floor. Pushing off, Shepard eased into a sitting position on the floor. Her spine pressed intimately into a gap between boxes, and she leaned her head back after closing her eyes.

Only the gentle whum-whum of the drive core could be heard, so the silence was deafening to Sam. She took a hesitant step back toward the elevator. _Well, you certainly thought this through. Shall we talk about the weather? The color of Cerberus trooper blood? My favorite vid? Does she like romantic walks on the beach and getting caught in the rain?_

…_whoa, where did that last bit come from?_

"How are you settling in, Traynor?" Shepard asked lightly, thankfully distracting Sam from her thoughts.

Gingerly stepping back to lean against the crates next to Shepard, Samantha thought a moment before deciding on a conversational approach. "I actually feel somewhat useful. It's been challenging to integrate data feeds for the war summit. Which is now on schedule, by the way. I just got confirmation."

"How are the systems holding up?" Another boring, professional question. _She doesn't want to talk about what happened. …did you expect her to? Because you are just the best of friends?_

"Well…" Samantha hesitated, but smiled. "I'm glad we performed stress tests."

EDI, always listening, chimed in overhead. "Specialist Traynor has been extremely helpful. The accuracy of our war room data is a direct result of her work." That warm, singing feeling had returned. _Oh EDI, you tease. You know just how to make a girl feel wanted. _"Thank you, EDI."

When Shepard didn't respond, Sam rushed to fill the empty space. For some reason, Shepard's silences were always a green light in Sam's mind to just ramble on. "I'm still getting used to all of this. In the lab, we'd hoard everything—piles of tech everywhere. Out here, it's like living out of a shoebox."

Rubbing her jaw, Shepard looked past Sam. Upward. Samantha turned around and looked up to see several faces pressed against the Engineering deck window. Rashad, Adams, Hertzfeldt, and Douglas all jumped up in comical synch, then scattered. Shepard sighed. "Life on an active ship always feels crowded at first. You get used to it."

And, to Sam's utter surprise: Shepard patted the ground beside her. She was actually asking, without asking, that Sam sit with her. _Vega must have hit her harder than I thought. I'm glad I called Dr. Chakwas when I did. She's delirious. _But Samantha obliged, and mimicked the Commander's leaning sit against the cargo hold. The intimate, friendly atmosphere should have been rewarding.

Instead, it made Sam stupid. "Oh, it's not a bad thing. I've got no problems… getting cozy." She even had the audacity to giggle.

"_Getting cozy"… "getting cozy"?! Are you barking mad? You're flirting! You flirt! Your commanding officer just killed about 20 people and beat the crap out of one of your crewmates, and you're __**flirting!**_

Samantha cleared her throat, but Shepard didn't react. One of her eyes was still closed, while one peered curiously. Shepard's anger came ringing back to Sam's mind, and she decided a different tactic. _Look, she's been agitated and dealing with insubordination. Try to be appreciative. Maybe it will be refreshing._

"This is wonderful," Sam purred lightly, waving her hand in front of her. "Back in the lab, we had to hoard because we had no budget. It was a nightmare, and every researcher for herself. But now…"

Sam glanced around the Shuttle Bay. She remembered when Steve was outfitting this place back on Earth. Every requisition form he filled out, whether it was for a pile of bolts or a state-of-the-art procurement system, was signed off on. It was wonderful, and Samantha's requisitions wish-list flashed in her mind. "EDI? Ariake Tech uses a proprietary smart-processing algorithm that could clean up our long-range data. Can we license it?"

To Sam's delight, EDI responded with approval and by the time Sam could grin cheerfully at Shepard, the AI had already applied and analyzed the upgrade, determining it to be an efficient change to the Normandy. Shepard focused both eyes on Sam, and nodded. "Impressive." Samantha murmured that she could get used to living out of the shoebox, to which Shepard smiled lightly.

Silence once again enveloped the Shuttle Bay, but Samantha wasn't quite ready to leave yet. It was Shepard who broke it this time. "I fucking hate Cerberus."

_Not exactly a winning conversation starter. _"I noticed, ma'am."

The elevator door spared Sam from what would undoubtedly be a difficult conversation. _Because I… don't hate Cerberus. I mean, I sort of pity them? I guess? But how can I hate something that without it… I'd probably be dead. If Shepard hadn't worked with Cerberus, I'd be a Collector prisoner. Or dead. So would my family. _

_Would you hate me if I didn't hate them?_

Dr. Chakwas swept into the Shuttle Bay with a large packet of medi-gel and her Omni-tool glowing. "So sorry to keep you waiting, Commander."

"Waiting? I didn't send for you, doctor." Shepard glanced at Sam in confusion.

_Eeep. _

_Think, Traynor, think._

But the good doctor shot Sam a kind smile before setting her bag down in front of the Commander. "Lieutenant Vega mentioned you might have need of my services. He had some rather nasty bruises and indicated you might also be sporting injury. From …Sanctum? No doubt?" Karin eyed the darkening bruise on Shepard's chin, as well as orange cybernetics peaking through the cut on her cheek.

Muttering assent, Shepard closed her eyes while Dr. Chakwas dabbed medi-gel on her face. Sam let out a quiet sigh of relief. _I owe that woman a drink. _Her eyes couldn't help but wander as Karin peeled up Shepard's tank top to examine her torso, stopping just short of her breasts. Dark purple dots peppered muscular abs, the sign that the Commander's shields had failed and bullets were hitting her armor. But there was no penetration or blood, and the doctor's probing fingers revealed no indication of internal injury. Nor did her Omni-tool, as Dr. Chakwas administered a long overdue scan.

Sam asked if she should leave, for this whole examination seemed rather personal. Shrugging off her concern, Shepard pulled her tank top down and waved dismissively. _What does that mean, should I stay? Or go?_

_I think if the Commander wanted you to leave, she'd say so._

Dr. Chakwas wanted to keep an eye on Shepard's cybernetic implants. "Expensive stuff, bringing me back," the Commander quipped with some anger. _"Bringing me back"? Were all those rumors …true?_

_More questions._

Karin smiled. "And worth every penny." She glanced at her Omni-tool and considered the diagnosis. "Your system is still detecting your implants as foreign bodies. While there's no health risk, your scars will have trouble healing. I recommend reducing stress levels. Be compassionate."

Shepard scoffed. "This is a war, doctor. We don't have time for that." Her usual acid was back in her voice, and Sam shrank away slightly. She felt silly in comparison, talking to Shepard about shoeboxes. Silly and small.

"There's always time to be kinder. A little more optimism and a little less realism could help, Commander. Otherwise, just a cosmetic issue. If you like that sort of thing," Karin pressed, running her fingertip over Shepard's cheek again. The scars didn't frighten Sam. But the alien lacing of cybernetics under Shepard's skin did somewhat.

Brushing her tenderness away, Shepard growled. "Do you ever regret working for Cerberus?"

"We didn't work **for** them. We **used** them," Dr. Chakwas countered with some venom. "If I were to feel anything, it would be guilt." Shepard scoffed again and wrinkled her nose. Several freckles disappeared in the crease.

"Guilt?" Sam repeated incredulously. Karin gestured around the Shuttle Bay. "We took their money. We took their best people. And we took their best ship."

Sniffing deeply, Shepard wiped the smudge of blood on her upper lip away. She glowered at the ground, unconvinced.

"We used them to defeat the Collectors and now we are using their resources against them." Dr. Chakwas placed a hand on Shepard's upper arm and squeezed it reassuringly. "So, no. I don't regret it one bit." The doctor didn't wait to be dismissed, but just turned on her heel toward the elevator.

Samantha's Omni-tool glowed with urgency. Another message from the Primarch. That quick 10 minute break had somehow become 20. _And I still really have to pee. _She stood up, but it felt wrong to turn her back on the Commander.

Extending a hand, Sam offered it to Shepard. Her eyes flicked from the open palm to Sam's eyes back to the palm, but she did accept. This lithe woman, so tiny compared to James Vega, was heavier than she looked. It took a slight heave to haul Shepard to her feet.

"Come, Commander. You have a war summit to host. It's poor manners to be late to your own party."

It was several long seconds before Samantha realized that Shepard was still holding her hand. A heat began to grow in Sam's cheeks, quite against her will. Shepard hadn't seemed to notice, for she was staring off in the distance. She had to blink several times before focusing back on Sam. But still Shepard held on.

Pulling her hand out of that warm grasp and placing it nonchalantly on her hip, Samantha nodded towards the elevator. She smoothed the other hand across her cheeks to push back the blush.

There was no smile, but just that crease around Shepard's eyes. The husky danger in her tone sent a tiny thrill up Sam's spine. "Time to dust off my dress blues and be on my best behavior. Hopefully I remember what that's like."

"I'm certain it's in there somewhere, Commander. And I bet it's lovely."

* * *

**Ren's Overlong Proposal: **_(proposing? So soon? …sorry, stupid joke.)_

_I may not have had an Xbox to play, but at least I have the internet. I used the Mass Effect Wiki to actually map out a cautious timeline. Not gonna sugarcoat it: it's gonna be long. Even if I just mention in passing some things and extend others, it's gonna be long._

_My concern with this lengthy process is not actually quantity but quality. Especially in regards to Sam. I fear getting bored or boring you, dear readers, with her job aboard the Normandy. There are a few sexy missions that involve hacking and decrypting and eavesdropping (or if they don't, I can generally fake it). But otherwise, if Sam is even working that shift, she's typing on a computer. There are only so many ways to tart that up while Shepard has sexy violence that needs little tarting. _

_Therefore, I'd like to gauge outrage/interest in violating canon. I'm not talking Sam suiting up and running up a building with an SMG in each hand (which would be terrifyingly badass). But a subplot or two using her skills with EDI or a crew member on brand new (side) missions that don't necessarily impact the overall plot of Mass Effect 3, or Sam's arc with Shepard. Two I have in my head for sure involve tying up plot holes, one from ME2 and a minor one in the Citadel DLC. Character growth and bonding to be certain. I also plan to insert a lot of Sam's Citadel party dialogue throughout rather than dump it all into one giant drunken party section. _

_Whatcha think? Are we cool?_


	11. Big on Formality

_[mail-list-server: crew-normandy]  
07:16:33 GST, 26/03/2186_

_Subject: War Summit Protocol_

_At approximately 19:00 GST, the Normandy will begin docking with representatives from the salarian, krogan and turian leadership councils. This will include a military entourage._

_Dress code for the remainder of the war summit is Service Dress Uniform for all active crew in the CIC and Crew Deck levels. Full Dress Uniform will be required for anyone in immediate contact with war summit representatives in the War Room and surrounding areas. Crew located in Engineering and the Shuttle Bay may wear regular Service Uniform. _

_Guards will be posted outside Decks 1, 4, and 5 to redirect any war summit guests. War summit guests are not permitted outside of Decks 2 or 3._

_Normal shifts will be observed._

_Staff Cmdr Shepard, Annelise M  
Human Systems Military Alliance_

_Dictated but not read_

* * *

"_Dictated but not read" my arse, _Samantha scowled as she smoothed out a crease in her dress jacket in the Crew Deck women's washroom. _"Dictated and read over and over" is more like it. _The better part of the two day haul to Annos Basin had been spent endlessly refining that bloody email to the crew. Apparently, "Senior Comms Specialist" translated to "Master Email Writer" in the Commander's mind.

The whole ordeal had been irritating to Sam. Mostly because it wasn't even done in person. Shepard had been either scarfing down protein bars in the Crew Deck to recover her energy from so much biotic exertion on Sanctum, or up in her cabin doing God knows what. Sam had been tending to her shift, dutifully analyzing the QEC feeds in the War Room, when that first message had popped up.

[Message received: "Traynor, are you busy? Please respond ASAP. –A.S."]

_Well, that could either be good or bad. And at least she instant-messages more coherently than Dr. Chakwas._

Rubbing her eyes, Samantha turned away from the set of elcor feeds she'd been mapping and brought up her Omni-tool's keyboard.

[Message sent: "I am available. How may I be of assistance, Commander? /Traynor"] _Now I feel like EDI. "I am pleased to assist!"_

[Message received: "I need to run a correspondence by you before I send it to the crew. Can you help? –A.S."]

_Well, that sounds simple enough, _Samantha had stupidly thought at the time. What followed was a haphazard string of bullet points on details the Commander wanted regarding the war summit. First it was just the dress code, which was horribly rigid.

_Full Service Dress?! Bloody hell, I didn't even try my replacement dress blues on before I left the Citadel. _

_And I'd only worn those damn things once anyway at my graduation ceremony. _

_I'd just kill myself and get it over with. It'd certainly hurt less than standing in the CIC in __**heels**__ for God knows how long. _

So Sam had asked for more information and gone back to work. The elcor time-lapse was proving problematic, because Dekuuna and Ekuna's high gravity wreaked havoc on her algorithms. Consulting with EDI, Samantha managed to rig an equation to overcompensate for the data lapse, but it wasn't ideal. Digging around the extranet, Samantha had just found a suitable integration suite when her Omni-tool glowed again.

[Message received: "It's tomorrow at 19:00. And security needs to be stepped up. –A.S."]

[Message sent: "All right, ma'am. 19:00, full service dress, more security. Anything else? /Traynor"]

[Message received: "Did I say full dress? That seems excessive. –A.S."]

_Your words, not mine. I flunked out of mind-reading in college,_ Sam grumbled inwardly. Apparently the elcor didn't just pass out encoding suites to anyone who asked, either. Even with a little thing like a galaxy-wide invasion going on. _I miss my irresponsible college days where I'd just pirate the damn thing. But now everything I do is monitored and catalogued, and I have a feeling the Alliance might not be thrilled if I downloaded a server core-collapsing virus from an unverified source._

A long-form was dumped into Samantha's inbox, with a laundry list of overly personal questions to answer. Before resuming her actual job, she sighed and pondered a tactful response to Shepard. She even took a chance on being informal.

[Message sent: "I would agree, ma'am. Excessive and bloody hot. I don't fancy melting all over the krogan war chief's boots... Feet? Claws? /Traynor"]

[Message received: "Scratch the dress code, then. Can't have my crew passing out. Can you shoot me a draft to read over? –A.S."]

A simple three line email was easy enough to whip up and send over. The blank elcor request form still leered from her inbox, ready to be tackled. _Is my grandmother's maiden name (on my father's side) truly relevant to the elcor embassy? Or my height and weight? What's next? My turn ons and turn offs? Brand of toothpaste? Cup size?_

[Message received: "Sorry, I checked the Alliance regs. Need that dress code back in the email. And it's still a little too formal. Surely I have more personality than that. –A.S."]

_Speaking of similar cup siz—Don't you dare finish that thought, Traynor._

"_More personality?" In a bloody email? I could add the Alliance flag waving in the background. Or maybe get Allers to shoot an inspiring vid for it. What the hell does "more personality" mean?_

Sighing deeply, Sam took another stab at it. A simple "Greetings fellow Normandiers" to start, a casual update, and a cheeky sign off from The Commander. With a spot of urgency for everyone to be on their best behavior. _There. Now I have elcor diplomatic relations to smooth over with deeply personal information so the Normandy can have accurately calibrated QEC data. My first job at the Horizon Civic Center and my savings account at Beckmann Financial Savings & Loan are being ransomed for a bloody algorithm._

[Message received: "When have I ever called anyone a 'Normandier'? That sounds like Joker. No one wants to sound like Joker. Is that what I sound like? –A.S."]

And it went on like this. For hours. Draft after draft discarded, always with some excuse from the Commander: Too personal. Not personal enough. Change the dress code. Change it again. Where should security be? Is that enough security? Maybe we should have more? If only Ashley were here, she'd know, she was always the regs expert. Do we have enough dextro food for the turian guests? We really need to restock. Put in a reminder to go back to the Citadel as soon as possible. What time is it? Holy shit, is it that late? Send it already.

The bridge of Sam's nose ached from all the pinching it was receiving in frustration. Sam had doubled the dose of her migraine medication and it still hadn't penetrated the dull ache that was Collaborating with Commander Annelise Shepard on a Bloody Email. Even hours after the stupid message had finally _finally_ been blessed by Her Highness and everyone had gotten on with their lives, Samantha's migraine persisted.

As her Omni-tool glowing brightly with yet another new message, Sam just about screamed. She had to count to ten before turning the dial on the interface. _I am going to train Socks to enjoy the taste of human flesh, and I am going to unleash him in your quarters, Commander. I may not be an ace marksman. But I am a woman, and my revenge will be swift and brutal._

[Message received: "I appreciate your help with all this, Specialist. I couldn't trust just anyone with this. Joker would probably have everyone standing around in their underwear. Drunk. Thank you. –A.S."]

[Message sent: "If I may be frank, Commander… you're total crap to work with. Work for: fine. You can give orders like a pro. But as a partner, you're rubbish. /Sam"]

[Message received: "That's Staff Commander Rubbish to you, Specialist. I expect you in the CIC at 1900 sharp to welcome our guests. No melting or whining, either. –Shep"]

Buttoning up her formal Alliance jacket, Samantha smirked as she reread that final line. Six hours of back and forth and "dress it up some." All for a stupid email. _And just think, you __**did **__say it was an honor to help the war effort by flagging the Commander's messages and mapping intel. You volunteered for this migraine weeks ago. An email and an algorithm traded for your sanity and personal information._

_Oo-rah, marine. Or is it "oo-rah, yeoman" now? _

_Shit._

The women's washroom was starting to get crowded as more of the female crew shouldered their way to the mirrors to apply make-up. Lipsticks were traded, eyelashes were curled, and shirts were groaned over every time a wrinkle was spotted.

_Ten to one the men are just running a razor over their faces and calling it good. Six to one their socks don't match. Two point five to one they just sniff at their armpits and have to think about the last time they bathed._

Checking the time, Sam and crew still had about 25 minutes before Go Time. EDI announced over the intercom that docking procedures were beginning with the salarian and krogan vessels. The krogan would be coming in through the Shuttle Bay while the salarians preferred the bow airlock entrance. The turian Primarch, Victus, had already received a contingent of a half dozen men yesterday and hadn't left the War Room.

Samantha ran a comb through her hair one last time and rotated her head in a semicircle to appraise her appearance. _Pristine make-up. A glorious shade of lipstick. No clumps in my mascara. Hair smooth and glossy. Service dress uniform crisp and flattering to my figure. Knock 'em dead, Sam._

…_If there was anyone to knock dead, that is. Who did you want to go to bed with, again? The giant hump-backed lizards, the frog-people, or one of the scaly, bird-legged folks? Assuming any of them even have women in their entourage. I think the salarian dalatrass might be your closest bet. Aim high. _

_Go get you some, tiger._

"Lookin' good, Traynor," Specialist Ian Douglas whistled appreciatively in the Crew Deck hallway. Sergeant Benjamin Mason nearly bumped into Douglas, for he was a little stiff in his heavier uniform. Both men were following their Commander's orders to a T, well-dressed in their navy and gold-trimmed uniforms. Mason headed for the elevator while Douglas trailed Sam to the Mess Hall kitchen.

Sam smiled politely at Douglas's predatory gleam. _Yea. Right. Not a chance, buddy. _Engineer Rashad joined Sam at the skinny pantry hiding bottles of cold water. They toasted the war summit before taking a deep swallow. Then Douglas had to ask a stupid question.

"So. Traynor. What were you and Shepard doing in the Shuttle Bay night before last? We all saw you."

Sputtering, Sam coughed deeply on the refreshing bit of water now located in her right lung. Rashad had to pound Samantha on the back a few times to clear her airway, though she still felt twinges of pain in her throat and chest. _And now I'm probably bright red. Glad to know that hour of meticulous make-up application was wasted._

Sam straightened and glared at Douglas, whose eyebrows wiggled suggestively. "What do you **think** happened?"

"Oh, I want to hear it from you, Traynor."

"She ravished me behind the crates."

"Really?!"

Samantha shot Douglas a withering look and rolled her eyes. "**No**, not **really**." _Although..._

_Shut it, Traynor._

_But..._

_No._

"I spotted the Commander skulking in the cargo bay while I was... going to see Allers. I just went down to check to make sure our fearless leader wasn't about to set the Shuttle Bay on fire with her mind. She barely said two words to me before the doctor showed up. Highly stimulating," Sam deadpanned. "We'll be braiding each others' hair and having slumber parties by next week at the latest. A fraternization nightmare in the making." Rashad snickered and elbowed Douglas in the ribs.

"See? I told you nothing happened. This is **Traynor** we're talking about."

_Don't. Don't do it._

"What's **that** supposed to mean?" Samantha asked sharply. _Why? Why do you do these things?_

Morena Rashad threw her hands up in the air. The small, mousy woman was quick to apologize. "Oh, no! I didn't mean—I just… You don't seem like the type of person to take advantage of someone. It's a compliment!" Douglas mumbled a lewd follow-up regarding the things **he'd** take advantage of with the Commander, starting with her pert, perky—

"Some of us are trying to eat, Douglas. And last I checked, you're on calibration duty during the war summit. Maybe you should read up on the main gun so Garrus doesn't have to do all your work for you," Steve Cortez growled behind them. He was leaning against the Med Bay wall, chewing on a protein bar. Even though the Lieutenant was on Shuttle Bay duty and therefore exempt from the dress code, Steve was elegantly cut in his dress uniform. His cheeks glistened from a fresh application of after-shave.

Douglas saluted politely to the higher ranking officer, but he glowered at the rebuke. Samantha could barely hear his trailing-off mutter as he jogged to the Main Battery. Something about how just because the Commander wasn't **his** brand of cuisine, Cortez didn't need to ruin it for everyone.

Smiling gratefully at Steve, Samantha ventured over to him. She had another go at her bottle of water, though it still stung her throat slightly. "Thanks for the rescue, Cortez."

"Any time, Traynor. He's always running his mouth off. I bet he tells everyone back home that he rides Reapers like a cowboy."

"When he actually spends most of the day under the floor boards labeling cables," Sam agreed with a laugh-cough. Cortez motioned toward the mess tables, and kindly pulled out a chair for Sam before sitting down opposite her. _Always the gentleman._

They sat in silence for a few moments watching crew members joke and laugh as they headed for the elevator. There were quite a few uniformed crew mixed in with those lucky enough to be off duty during the war summit, but everyone was still buzzing with excitement. The war summit was Hope to everyone. Proof that the Alliance was bringing everyone together and the Normandy was going to help overcome the Reapers. In just a few hours, the Commander was going to have a plan and the Normandy would be off.

"How have you been, Steve?" Samantha asked softly. She and Steve had been friends since the first day they'd met in the Alliance docking bay. They were both colony kids. Found their passions, his with flying and hers with QEC, and let the Alliance pay their way through college. He was older, more serious. But he was gentle, solid and stoic. Quick to laugh at her stupid jokes.

Cortez smiled lightly, but his eyes betrayed him. They winced with pain. There was also a subtle tightening in his jaw. He at least was courteous enough not to lie. "One day at a time, Sam." _Where have I heard that before? _"The Kodiak isn't quite as nimble as my Trident. But it's certainly never a dull moment with Shepard."

"What do you think of her? Of Shepard?" Sam didn't realize how curious she was about his answer. Steve had a rare perspective. One of the few crew members who got to see her before and after the missions. The good, bad and ugly.

_Not ugly. I don't think she has an ugly bone in her body. That I've seen, anyway._

"Shepard's a piece of work, that's for sure, " Steve mused lightly. "Barks orders better than my old drill sergeant. But she's an odd one. I can't figure her out."

"How do you mean?"

He gestured with his protein bar after biting off another chunk. "Take Grissom, for example. I was back at the Normandy already when that Cerberus shuttle docked. One minute, Shepard was suggesting the students join the front lines as a biotic artillery squad. A bunch of kids!" Cortez shook his head in disgust. "The next minute, Shepard went to every single kid and checked on them. Their amps. How they were feeling. If they needed an energy bar or juice. Asking them if they had a tingle in their arm pits or neck and if so they should sit down."

"What's that about?"

Shrugging deeply, Cortez waved a wrist. "I guess it's a biotic thing? Robert explained it to me once, that biotics have nodes all along their soft tissue. Overexerting can create fissures in the lymph nodes if you're not careful."

It took Sam a moment to think how Steve's husband would know so much about biotics. _He wasn't one, I know Steve told me that… What did Robert do again? _

_Oh right! On Ferris Fields, he was an Alliance administer at a pharmacy and drug center specializing in red sand addiction. Biotics love their red sand._

"That sounds terrible."

"No kidding. Anyway, she went to every kid individually. She was soft, kind, and even encouraging. Kissing their owwies but then telling them to suit up and die for the Alliance. She said later that everyone deserved their chance to fight this war on their terms. And who was she to tell them to stop?" Steve sighed. He didn't approve.

"Who **was** she? She's Commander bloody Shepard," Samantha quipped lightly. She knew the warning signs when Steve was about to fade into his sadness over Robert. She'd become decently adept at pulling him out of it, though Lieutenant Vega had proven to be slightly better.

_I think Steve just likes Vega's rippling muscles. But his six-pack doesn't hold a candle to my rapier wit. Though he does know more about sports than I ever will._

Exhaling with a laugh, Steve agreed. "Commander bloody Shepard. Free-er of children and ass-kicker of Cerberus. That's the other thing. She practically gave those biotic kids hugs, but on Sanctum, Vega had to drag her ass onto the Kodiak. She wouldn't leave. The LZ was completely overrun, but Shepard just stayed there. Throwing Shockwaves, charging into clusters of troops, detonating Novas. Shooting until her ammo was out."

"That sounds terrifying," Sam amended her earlier statement. _That explains her dreadful argument with Vega. He interrupted her revenge on Cerberus._

"How have **you** been, Sam?" Cortez returned softly. He didn't want to talk about Shepard anymore.

"One day at a time," Samantha repeated back. "Where do you think you'd be right now if you weren't on the Normandy?"

Cortez rubbed his hands together as he finished his protein bar. His fingertips stopped at the silver wedding band on his left hand, but he cleared the sudden emotion from his throat. "I probably would have volunteered for the Fifth Fleet to fly some of Hackett's birds. But I'm where I'm supposed to be, I think. I would have gone crazy staying at Ferris Fields, which is why I jumped at the retrofits in the first place."

"I never wanted to do the retrofits," Sam softly told her water bottle. _I was harassed nonstop by Ventura for two months before I agreed to do them. _

_But, if I hadn't, I would have been on Arcturus when—_

Stealing a quick sip to distract from the sudden heat in her eyes, Sam lightened her tone. "The environment isn't ideal. A touch too stressful for my liking. All this coordinating and planning and following orders. Also, bullets. Far too many bullets. Comms do not necessitate bullets."

"You're becoming a real marine, Traynor," Cortez grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Soon you'll be suiting up with Mister Vega and charging into battle with your computer held high. Or is it your Omni-tool? What **is** the weapon of choice for the aspiring Battle Comms Specialist-class soldier?"

Sam chuckled ruefully. "Laugh it up, pilot-man. And the weapon of choice for the comms specialist is her brains. Not quite as visible as you pilots with your bloody ships, but more important. I forget, **do** you need brains to pilot your ships? Or does the computer do it all for you now?"

Before the two could start a silly argument over whose job was more important, EDI's lilting voice came over the intercom. "Attention: the war summit is now officially in progress. Please return to your work stations. All CIC crew, please welcome our guests."

Cortez escorted Samantha to the elevator, though he politely declined to join her in the lift. She was going up. He was going down. Even though Sam was going to possibly have to play hostess at her work station, the anxiety of the situation had diminished. She glanced at the reflective wall in the elevator to check her make-up, but unfortunately there was still some redness to her cheeks from her earlier embarrassment.

_So much for owning the room with my flawless complexion. New goal: not face-planting in front of the Primarch because my feet died in these heels._

…_At least you've got it easier than the poor sods in the War Room, Traynor. Xian's on War Room integration during the entire summit, so he's in Full Service Dress. And poor Campbell and Westmoreland have to __**stand**__ the entire time while monitoring the security curtain. _

Speaking of (_thinking of?) _Westmoreland, the young Private hurried past Sam just as the elevator opened. The young brunette's dress collar was a wreck, and she struggled to adjust her beret along with the assault rifle slung over her shoulder. _At least I'm not the only one running late._

The CIC was busier than usual. Fewer crewmembers were loitering around the galaxy map and more of the stations along the outer edge of the room were filled. Eyeballing the room suspiciously, a turian and salarian officer stood protectively near the war room door. Diana Allers was off to the side, attempting to engage the pair in conversation.

Allers threw a nod of greeting at Sam before turning back to the unresponsive guard detail. Her camera drone hovered close by. Her normal low cut top was exchanged in favor of an elegant blazer with silver trim, but the miniskirt remained just in a different color. Glancing at her high stiletto heels made Samantha's feet hurt in sympathy.

Sam's console by the galaxy map blinked back. New messages for the Commander. And one for Sam. Her request to the elcor embassy had been denied because she had failed to answer one of the application questions. _Son of a bitch! _

"_In case of emergency, contact: [blank]*_

_*Information missing. Application denied."_

A few more choice verbal curse words were held back on Samantha's tongue when a blur of red and silver swept by. From the back, this woman was all curves as she walked while her dress whispered with grace and elegance. Unabashedly, the corner of Sam's eye roved upward, appreciating the craftsmanship on the gown and the supple curve of the woman's waistline to her shoulders. But her admiration hit the brakes when the sleek neckline transitioned to a set of curving blue head ridges.

_Liara._

The asari doctor had paused at the entrance to the bow hallway. She had stopped Commander Shepard and was fidgeting over the human's formal uniform. Shepard squirmed slightly, but her untamed confidence seemed to have returned. She smiled lightly at Liara, and her hand wave suggested she had just paid the asari a compliment.

Shepard's loose waves of red hair were pulled back into a ponytail, though the asari had dabbed a thumb on her tongue to smooth over a few errant wisps. The Commander's uniform closely resembled Lieutenant Commander Williams', though trimmed with the gold bars of her slightly higher rank.

Still staring at the two women, Sam was dimly aware EDI had pressed an announcement for Shepard to hurry to the conference room. The Commander glanced at the ceiling and placed a hand on Liara's waist. She leaned in to speak close to Liara's ear. _Where **are** their ears?_ Sam ardently wished she could hear what they were saying, for their body language was intense and intimate. Shepard gestured with regret to the back of the CIC while Liara nodded. Brushing past the asari, Shepard met Sam's eyes and flicked her fingertips up in a brief wave.

Sam tried to clear her throat and intercept the Commander in the way Liara had, but Shepard had already disappeared into the security area. She wasn't sure why she felt a brief pang of competition with the asari. It twisted up inside Samantha's throat and rekindled the wheezy pain from her earlier coughing fit.

Just as Sam turned back to her console, she glanced up and saw Dr. T'Soni watching her curiously. Her blue eyes flicked to the security door and back at the comms specialist. Her white info drone appeared at her elbow, spinning and whirring, but Liara ignored it and continued to study Sam.

A glow on Samantha's Omni-tool spared her from the awkward staring contest with Liara. Sighing quietly with relief, Sam flicked a finger over her inbox.

[Message received: "Oh, by the way, our war summit allies are all meeting in the CIC after. Could you send them off with a little speech? Doesn't have to be fancy, just a few words. Thanks. –Cmdr Rubbish"]

_Oh son of a bi—_

"_In case of emergency, contact: Cmdr Annelise Shepard. Comm link IP: 012.7.31454.1-N2._

_Miss Shepard would also like to be opted in to any and all elcor tourism, commerce, colony and marketing correspondence you may offer."_

* * *

**Ren's Confession:  
**_I might be venting about some particularly annoying projects I've done in my career via Shepard and Sam's email snafu. Shepard is a really terrible client. If I had to work for her, I'd certainly be making fun of her behind her back. And possibly drawing unflattering cartoons._

_I'm not saying I do that. ...often, anyway._

_Also, it seems the motion for additional non-canon mission content, if reviews count as votes, passed with flying colors. I haven't quite figured out how soon I want to dig into that. I might also be willing to take suggestions._

_That said, I thank you all for the overwhelming number of reviews on the last chapter. I've exchanged some very thoughtful conversations with many of you, and your ideas and kindness are motivating. _

_All right, enough feelings. Back to writing!_


	12. En Passant

Yawning deeply, Samantha didn't care that she was barefoot in the Mess Hall. Her throbbing feet welcomed the cool metal floor, though they would honestly prefer she be sitting down. Instead, the comms specialist hopped from one aching foot to the other while she waffled indecisively outside Liara's door.

Six hours in the pair of heels Sam now carried in the crook of her elbow had been far too long for her unpracticed ankles. But the war summit had been a long, suspenseful waiting game. Only Shepard (and EDI) knew what went on in that conference room. The rest of the crew, like Samantha, had been stuck ambling around their work stations trying to look productive.

Other than gleefully watching Shepard's inbox fill up with elcor-themed junk mail and poking through the QEC feeds, the overdressed comms specialist had passed the time quietly playing a strategy game on her Omni-tool. A new one had just come out, Blood Feud, from one of her favorite game publishers. As a leader of a mercenary band, the dastardly Captain Sam the Merciless was leading her Indigo Flares against the rival Hemoglobin Gang and Sun Shadows. Her blue team had to amass mercenaries, supplies, trade lines and ships before the red or yellow teams in order to rule the galaxy with an iron fist.

Just as Captain Sam captured her final ship to secure the Terminus Systems under her terrifying rule, Shepard strode purposefully out of the security curtain. Following close behind the Commander was the krogan war chief, Urdnot Wrex. The imposing former mercenary's toothy grin was predatory. With a strangled gasp, Sam remembered she was ordered to have closing remarks prepared. _Is that why she's here? Bollocks! I should have been practicing! I didn't think she was serious!_

"I need your console, Specialist," Shepard demanded in a neutral tone. Samantha automatically stepped aside. The krogan stood impassively behind both women, carefully watching Shepard fiddle with the galaxy map.

Sam stared at Shepard out of the corner of her eye, studying the woman. Her jaw was hardset. The Commander hardly bothered to wear make-up (minus some understated accents around her green eyes), but her skin still was somehow always creamy and smooth with a liberal dotting of freckles. The cheek facing Sam's side still had a fading bruise from Shepard's fight with Vega. The healing cuts along her cheekbone and jawline had a craggy glow of orange. Part of Sam wanted to reach out, to touch that skin, to heal those wounds.

_You really are barking mad, Traynor. You know that._

_What can I say? I'm an old softie._

That silly thought was interrupted by a grunt behind Sam. She turned to her side to smile at Wrex, though the krogan didn't smile back. "Cheers," Sam mumbled softly, but it came out more as a cough than a word. Clearing her throat, the comms specialist tried again. She started to launch into a polite wrap-up she'd been practicing. _Well, not so much "practicing" as "making up on the spot." I hope I don't stutter. Or throw up. Throwing up would be bad._

"G—Good evening, Chief …um …Urdnot?" _Shit! I didn't read the primer on krogran naming etiquette. Chief Wrex? Chief Urdnot Wrex? __**Shit! **_"The… um… the Alliance would like to thank you for… umm…"

_Stop saying "um!" _

"Traynor." Shepard hadn't looked up, but just said her name. Receiving no further cues from her commanding officer, Samantha continued her remarks while the krogan stared with an eyebrow raised. Her palms had started to sweat and the rhythmic pound of her heartbeat kicked into high gear.

"That is, we are delighted to be your host for this—this summit, and if there's…"

Shepard, _bless her, _intervened. "Specialist. That's not necessary."

"It isn't?"

"No. The war summit is over. Wrex here will be joining us on Sur'Kesh."

"Sur'Kesh, Commander?"

"We're going to the salarian homeworld. Now."

The krogan finally spoke. It was a terrifying voice: low and guttural, booming and sneering, all in one wet breath. "Glad to hear you haven't lost your sense of initiative, Shepard." The way Wrex said the Commander's name… he sounded amused.

"I beg pardon?" Samantha ventured, but both soldiers ignored her.

Shepard turned her head sharply, but kept her tone even. "I didn't lose anything, Wrex. I'm still me."

"Are you?" Wrex challenged. "You talked a good game on Virmire three years ago. Almost made me believe you were on the krogan's side. If you get in my way on Sur'Kesh like you did with Maelon's data on Tuchanka, Shepard…" The threat hung ominously in the air. Shepard's eyes narrowed slightly. "This is the future of my people. I am taking those females back to our homeworld where they belong. So get behind me, or get out of my way."

Shepard's eyes flicked to Sam's and twitched slightly, causing the comms specialist to shrink away. Sam desperately wished to be invisible, and she suspected the Commander wished the same. This was a very private conversation that a doe-eyed comms specialist wasn't supposed to be privy to. _Do I wish I knew what they were talking about? Because I kind of don't want to know._

Once the galaxy mapped pinged the salarian homeworld and Joker confirmed the destination over the intercom, Wrex turned on his (_rather large) _heel back to the war room.

"Tell EDI and Garrus to suit up. We land on Sur'Kesh in two hours." Shepard stood at the galaxy map for a few moments longer than necessary. Samantha noticed the Commander's knuckles turning bright white and the skin stretched taut in her tight grip of the support bar.

"Commander…" Sam didn't know what to say. She wanted something witty and comforting and perfect to somehow make everything better. But it just didn't exist.

Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw Diana Allers stalking her way around the galaxy map. The reporter's camera drone followed close behind. Allers made eye contact with Sam, tossed her head at Shepard then smiled encouragingly.

_What is she—?_

_Oh God. She wants to interview Shepard. Abort! Abort!_

Diana stopped in her tracks when she saw Sam's tight, but emphatic, shake of the head. Favoring Shepard's back with her best panicky glance, Sam scrunched up her face to best communicate: _For the love of God, do not talk to Shepard. Unless you want to be tossed out the airlock._

Thankfully, Allers understood the nonverbal communication and had her camera pan over the CIC with a flourish. As though that were the intent all along. Just the reporter wanting a better angle of the Normandy's command center.

Sam started to exhale with relief, but had to hold it in when the Commander turned around. Shepard mumbled a vague "Specialist" before heading for the elevator. Shepard retired to her cabin, probably to grab her armor and guns and other warrior things that warriors did. _Because they're warriors._

_And you're a comms specialist. _Chewing her lip, Sam shifted her weight uneasily. The last few hours in dreadful shoes started a chain reaction ache in her feet and ankles, but her shift was nearly over. By the time the Normandy reached the salarian homeworld, a fresh comms specialist would be at the helm.

"I feel like I should be thanking you, Traynor, but I don't know what for," Diana said cautiously as she approached Sam's console. Snorting lightly, Samantha sighed. "You have no idea, Allers. Let's just say you were about to be the follow-up act to the verbal equivalent of a krogan headbutt. And I suspected your head was too soft and pretty to handle it."

"Well, as long as we agree it's pretty," Allers grinned cheerfully. She made a big show of checking Sam out, from toe to head then back down again. She wolfwhistled. "You clean up good, Traynor. Next time we go to the Citadel, we should go clubbing. While the ANN's per diem does not include alcohol, to my eternal regret, I do know the perfect spot where the marines just line up to buy girls drinks. Especially the pretty ones."

_Clubbing. God, I haven't had a girls' night out in… _Sam swallowed when she thought of Isabella. She struggled to change her train of thought. _But a little dancing could be fun. If only I had a nice dress—_

Jerking up straight with a start, the comms specialist pushed past the reporter who grunted in confusion. Something like a combination between an "Unh?" and a "Wha—?" Sam's destination was actually just behind Diana, in the storage nook next to the lift. The day the Normandy had left Earth, Sam had stashed an overnight bag there.

A bag that was now gone.

_You've got to be kidding me. Who would steal a bloody overnight bag with a damn dress?_

Samantha dug around a few of the remaining crates, but there was no sign of her red bag with its array of souvenir pins. Crestfallen, Sam limped her way back to her console. She waved off Diana's questioning head tilt, though she promised to tell the reporter later. It was hard to pinpoint why exactly the missing bag depressed Sam so sharply and suddenly. Obviously, it hadn't been a great concern since she'd forgotten it even existed for several weeks.

_I guess… it was the last remnant I'd had of my old life. The satchel I'd had since I was a teenager. It had survived many a chess tournament and trip home from college. …plus I looked smokin' hot in that black dress. I practically had to tackle another woman for it at the boutique sale rack. It always made me feel… pretty. Confident. _

_And now it's gone._

Slapping her on the back, Allers ordered Sam to meet for a drink after her shift was over. The comms expert mumbled an affirmative, but turned to her console to dive into the hour of remaining work. Integrating with salarian comms was both easy and difficult. But more importantly: distracting.

Salarian encryptions were brilliant, complex and beautiful, but the authentication process was blissfully smooth. Sam was so engrossed in her task that she hadn't even seen the dalatrass leave the airlock to return to her ship. But at least she was spared trying to make a speech again. Hopefully Shepard learned her lesson and wouldn't inflict that on Sam again.

_Unless Shepard is a sadist …that's not likely, right?_

So immersed in her task, Samantha almost didn't notice the time. Or the pulsing throb of her feet. She slipped out of her shoes the moment Xian slowly jogged up to take over her shift. Just as Sam hit the button to call the lift, there was a beep on her Omni-tool.

[Message received: "I have an urgent matter I wish to discuss with you, Specialist Traynor. Please see me in my office at your earliest convenience. – Liara"]

_Well, that's ominous._

Sam pondered saying no, but she didn't have a good reason to refuse.

It's not that Samantha Traynor **hated** asari, per se. It's just that she'd never met one she liked.

_Which… sounds unfair. _

Truth be told, Sam didn't know that many asari. Horizon was almost an exclusively human colony. Plus Vancouver and Arcturus station, both human military and government-heavy territories, also didn't employ many non-humans. So most of Sam's experience with other races were when she ventured outside her colony for chess tournaments.

_I hate competing with asari. So ageless and superior._

Polgara T'Suzsa flashed into Samantha's mind.

"_Another boorish upstart. I thought a short-lived species like yours would learn its lesson faster than most. Next time, why don't you try surrendering in advance to save yourself the embarrassment?" _Her voice was ringing and smug and Sam always wanted to strangle T'Suzsa. Especially after that last tourney loss.

The perfect example of the ageless, superior asari. Because of the technicalities in how asari were considered aged in their own race, some of Sam's chess tournaments when she was 15-19 were against asari in their 30s and 40s. Of **course** an extra decade or two meant a world of difference. But higher ranked tournaments had different rules.

Which meant most of Sam's interaction with asari had been as a competitor. _Until now?_

…_what __**are**__ you competing with Liara for, Traynor?_

_Something specific?_

Shaking her head, Sam padded her way around the corner of the Crew Deck. Again, that feeling of insecurity gave her pause outside of Liara's door. She braced herself against the wall to massage a thumb along the ball of her right foot. _Ugh. No more fancy meetings with fancy leaders. _Sam raised her arms above her head and stretched, to the rewarding sound of several pops in her lower back. The comms specialist yawned deeply before begrudgingly stepping back into her heels.

_All right. Here we go._

Glyph cheerfully welcome Samantha into Liara's cabin. Scanning the room, Sam noticed a vast increase in the number of datapads around since her brief look in this room several weeks prior. The bed also looked pristine, like it had never been slept in.

_Why did your eyes go straight to the bed, Traynor? Maybe you don't dislike asari as much as you pretend you do?_

_Shut it._

"Specialist Traynor," the asari doctor acknowledged from her tower of view screens. A number of feeds and faces were abruptly cleared from Sam's view. The comms specialist inwardly smirked at the lack of trust, but decided to offer some of her own. "Please, call me Samantha. Unless this is a formal inquisition, Dr. T'Soni."

Liara inclined her head respectfully and returned, "Please. Liara."

But, rather than continue the discussion, Liara regarded the comms specialist coldly. Her eyes seemed to be memorizing every line of Sam's face. Looking through her. It was unsettling.

_Why is everyone on this bloody ship so fond of uncomfortable silences?_

"Um. Liara? I got your message. Responded promptly and everything. May I ask what this is regarding?"

"I apologize if I appear rude, Samantha. I am in a difficult situation. What I wish to ask you is also very difficult, and I am uncertain whether or not I can trust you."

"Do I have to pass a test? Or something?" Sam offered lightly, but the asari did not respond. She was even harder to read than Shepard, which was an impressive feat. _I also don't fancy needing to prove myself to someone needing __**my**__ help. Isn't that all backwards?_

Turning to her towering console, Liara brought up a series of feeds. Images flashed on the screens, credentials, histories, even childhood videos.

They were all of a young human woman named Samantha Karuna Traynor.

Sam stiffened when she saw her high school graduation photo smiling back at her. Her military ID. A Horizon honor for chess victories. A video from her private extranet group of her and some college girls up to no good at her 21st birthday. "What's this about? Why have you been spying on me?"

"I believe you met my colleague, Feron."

_Feron… Feron… _"Oh, you mean the drell who set up your office? …Yes."

Liara's cheek twitched. "Feron and I… have not always been colleagues. Several years ago, when we first met on a mission of great importance, Feron betrayed me. A number of times, actually."

"I'm …sorry to hear that?" Samantha's sympathy while seeing the private details of her life on this asari's screens was more of a formality. It was all she had to not grit her teeth and scowl.

"I was unaware that Feron had multiple allegiances. In the end, he proved a good man and we are now strong allies. But I vowed to never again so blindly put my faith in someone I knew so little about. This is why I looked in to your history, Samantha."

Biting back sarcastically, Sam crossed her arms. "Find anything interesting?"

Liara did not react to the comms specialist's anger. Her blue fingers danced over her console as the screens showed new scenes. "Many things, actually. You have had some trouble with the law. Minor offenses mostly. An underage drinking citation at the Horizon Hornets Homecoming dance. You were in a traffic accident at age 17 with another car that increased your insurance by 11.5%. You were at fault, 'not paying attention' cited as the reason." Sam blushed at this revelation. She had completed the mandatory schooling to expunge that little fender bender from her record, but she had done a number on her first skycar.

The asari continued. "Several curfew violations in the dormitories of your college. Recruited for the Alliance in your late teens with your education paid for by the Future Leaders Initiative. Excellent marks in Communication Theory and Advanced QEC Algorithms. Several break-throughs in the Arcturus Reseach & Development on nonsequential mapping algorithms."

Pausing, Liara swiveled in her tall chair and peered at the scowling human woman. A human woman who was none too pleased. "Which part screamed 'I am a secret agent'? Was it me being out past curfew? Meeting with secret organizations about secret things? I knew I should have picked a nefarious network of villainy that kept better hours. The pay was just utter **crap**, though."

A jibe like that might, _might,_ have gotten a tiny corner-of-the-mouth smile from Commander Shepard, but apparently Samantha had found the one person with an even worse sense of humor. Liara raised an eyebrow and brought up something Sam had actually never seen: her service records since she had joined the Alliance. She tapped a screen ominously. "**This** is where I… grow concerned, Samantha. While your records indicate you are an excellent serviceman, six months ago your record was flagged by the Alliance."

_**What?! Why?! **__What the—what the__** hell?!**_

Dr. T'Soni shrewdly glared at Sam. "Right about the time Commander Shepard turned herself in to the Alliance, you were placed under scrutiny by your own government. My question is: why?"

Flabbergasted, Samantha could only sputter. She stormed over to Liara's consoles to have a better look, but she did notice a crackling biotic blue aura around the asari. _She's… she's putting up a barrier. Because she thinks you're dangerous, Sam. How… What… _"I don't know why that is, **Dr.** T'Soni. No one ever told me. Six months ago I was ...stationed on Arcturus Station. I had no idea who Commander Shepard even **was, **really. I didn't join the retrofit team until two months later. Are spies **usually** that slow and lazy? Or am I just **that** gifted at being awful?"

"Specialist Traynor, if I may interject."

It was EDI. Of course she was always listening. _Thank goodness, because I think I'm about to hyperventilate. Whether in panic or in rage is still up for debate._

_Place your bets, Traynor._

EDI was calm and addressed Liara directly. "I wish to speak on Specialist Traynor's behalf, Dr. T'Soni. You see, the Alliance did not flag the Specialist's service record. I did."

Leaning back, the halo of blue noticeably diminished around the asari. "Please explain, EDI."

"I used an inactive officer's military protocols to gain access to the Alliance database. Filtering for potential candidates, I sought the best active personnel available to work on the Normandy. The comms specialist assigned to the retrofits did not …meet my expectations."

_Oh, please don't tell me you had her or him killed. _"What are you saying, EDI? How many comms specialists were there before I came on?"

"Approximately five. The first two comms specialists the Alliance assigned I locked out of all vital systems, claiming a protocol error that could not be rectified. Two others I determined to be inadequate before they officially set foot on the Normandy. I made sure their duty papers were …misplaced. One of the aforementioned five also had an unfortunate incident with an airlock." A long pause. "That was a joke."

Swallowing in slight terror, Sam redirected the conversation. She briefly didn't care about the nosy asari who had brought all this information to light. Briefly. "Why me, EDI?"

"Your records indicated you had the most promising experience to best improve my vital systems. Your QEC research combined with your psych profile indicated you were an innovative, adaptive and insightful individual. However, your psych profile also indicated you were not predisposed to accepting change. So I alerted Lieutenant Ventura to your service records and she took over your recruitment."

_Well, that would be flattering if it wasn't also a little terrifying. I was stalked for two months, not by some Alliance officer I could barely stand, but a self-aware AI with extremely high standards. _

_I suppose I should thank her._

The comms specialist turned back to Liara. Now that the panicky jitter was fading, Sam thrust a thumb upward. "You heard the artificial intelligence. I'm not a spy. I'm bloody desirable." Liara looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding.

"Indeed. I apologize for going behind your back, Specialist Traynor. In my line of work, information is everything. Who to trust with that information is equally important. In times like these, we cannot afford to place our trust in the wrong people. Would you not agree?"

_Shit. That's actually a really good point. _Sam glowered and chewed on her lower lip. "You really need to work on your first impressions, Doctor. The whole 'I know everything about you' bit probably won't have people lining up to join your information network. I have serious doubts that's how the Shadow Broker does things, anyway. Unless you work for the bloody Shadow Broker, then in that case, your problems are definitely bigger than mine."

It was the first time Liara smiled. She wasn't coy about hers the way Shepard was. This asari was either impossibly serious or impossibly glowing. It was still a brief glow, but a smiling Liara did make Sam feel a little better. "In a matter of speaking, Samantha. I am …familiar… with the Shadow Broker's methods at any rate."

_Fine. Be all secretive and information broker-y. Let's cut to the bloody chase._

"So? Allies, then?" Samantha stuck her hand out, which Liara stared at for a moment. The asari's warm hand clasped around the human's, her blue skin pebbly and rough but also silken and smooth. "All right, then. What can I do for you, Dr. T'Soni?"

"You're going to help me find who betrayed the Normandy SR-1. And killed Commander Shepard."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_En passant: in chess, a move where a pawn captures another pawn as it passes, rather than landing on it directly._

_Sam and Liara are long overdue a chat, no? Might as well also include Exciting Side Mission #1. Plus a number of loose threads I'd been keeping under my hat. Feels good to air them out finally._

_Retrofitted note/plug: I wrote a companion piece to this fic called Pawn to d4. It goes into detail why Sam didn't join the Normandy until four months before the Reapers invade Earth.  
_


	13. Reciprocity

"Um, a question from the floor."

Samantha raised her hand like Little Sam would have done back in grade school. The situation felt similar. A strange, intimidating place. Familiar and inspiring, but also slightly uncomfortable. All eyes on her. And a very stern, patient professor explaining something Sam didn't (_couldn't?_) understand.

Dr. Liara T'Soni swiveled in her chair, turning away from her wall of screens to watch the comms specialist expectantly. She only needed to peer down a pair of rimmed glasses to complete the illusion.

Sam cleared her throat and cocked her head slightly, hoping she was just hard of hearing. "…You did say 'killed Shepard,' right?"

There was a noticeable stiffening of Liara's posture, as well as a brief flash of pain in her eyes. But she still said nothing and let Sam continue.

"By 'killed,' do you mean… like… **killed** killed? In the biblical sense? Physical sense? Literal sense? Commander Shepard… **our** Commander Shepard was …dead?" That last word could only creep out as a whisper. The thought of Shepard… _she was… she…_ …it stole the air from Samantha's lungs. It was impossible. Terrifying.

_Almost as impossible and terrifying as a dead woman coming back to life?_

Liara nodded once. "You are correct, Specialist Tray—Samantha. In all regards. Despite misinformation to the contrary spread by a variety of sources, Commander Shepard was …killed in action that day. She didn't run off to Cerberus. She wasn't in a coma in a secret Alliance hospital. Or a batarian prisoner. Or any of the other myriad of rumors the galaxy came up with to explain her absence.

"I saw her. From my escape pod. Spinning helplessly in the black of space until she stilled." The asari's expression was glazed. Hooded. The face of a woman trying to bury a memory where someone she cared about was taken from her. To Liara's credit, her voice didn't crack.

Sam's would have. She also knew that look. She'd felt it herself. On Horizon. On Earth. Hell, on the Normandy after the news of Arcturus Station. It was impossible and terrifying, to feel so alone.

Her sarcastic bravado, usually a solid rock against uncomfortable situations, was eroding rapidly. Sam wanted to hug Liara. But the asari didn't want pity. Liara shakily cleared her throat a few times before turning back to her screens.

Trying to pour some empathy into what was undoubtedly a difficult topic, Samantha politely requested, "Would you—would you please start at the beginning, Liara?"

"As I was saying… I was there that day. It was like any other since our encounter with Saren at the Citadel. Scouting the fringes of space looking for signs of geth activity. But somehow, a Collector ship managed to find one of the most advanced ships in the galaxy, target it, and destroy it."

"What happened after?"

Liara paused at the interruption, but continued in her well-rehearsed way. She picked up a datapad and gestured with it. "Now, the Normandy SR-1 was stealthed. No other race has shown even a hint of breaking through the stealth barrier. I have studied a number of classified government files, and currently only two races have working knowledge of stealth technology: the salarians and quarians. But neither are hostile to humans, nor Shepard, and their adaptation was too recent. Within the last six months to a year. So they are not under suspicion."

"Liara."

"Even now, the Normandy SR-2 utilizes a similar, though higher-powered, version of the SR-1's stealth drive and the Reapers have not managed to find us. So we can labor under the assumption that the Collectors, nor the Reapers, were able to break the stealth cloak on their own. My theory is…"

"**Liara.**"

The asari inhaled sharply, irritated that her potential assistant was sidetracking her. But there was a detail Sam wasn't about to just gloss over. "Liara. What happened after the Normandy was destroyed?" She paused, then smiled softly. "You have all this history. With the Normandy. Shepard."

Just as Samantha had expected, there was that flash of pain again at the link between Shepard and Liara's history together. But, considering Liara had easily dug through Samantha's entire history like it was tattooed on her forehead, Sam decided **not** to go strolling down that memory lane.

_Prying into an already angry asari's romantic history? Eight to one odds my service record gets "mysteriously" re-flagged and I'm hauled away in chains at the next port. Four point five to one Liara has me killed and it looks like an accident. Two to one Liara just has me killed._

"I just mean, all I know about Shepard I learned from the ANN. Watching Shepard on the telly is hardly an unbiased or even complete picture of what really happened, right? I just—I just want to know. Please. You owe me this." A risky move.

Thankfully, Liara softened and set her datapad aside. Crossing her legs, the asari clasped her fingers around her kneecap. Not exactly letting her hair down, but Sam suspected this was as close as the woman got.

_We really need to do something about that. _

…_do we now, Traynor?_

"You're right. I forget sometimes, the people behind the information. It was rude of me to treat your personal history like a thesis paper." Liara's brow (_does she even have eyebrows? They look drawn on…)_ furrowed and a hand left its safety at her knee to accentuate her apology.

"And not a very good paper, I might add. I'm a fairly boring person," Samantha quipped. "And you didn't need to go behind my back, Liara. I probably would have told you anything you wanted to know."

Suddenly, her breathing hitched for a split second and the asari cocked her head at Sam. _What? Was it something I said? _Whatever it was, there was a flicker of recognition reflected in those blue eyes. Liara continued, "I wasn't always an information broker. Before, I was an archaeologist studying the Protheans. After Shepard—after she died, I, too, wanted to know what happened. It was slow going, but I gathered enough leads to discover that her body was being transported in a stasis pod. To be handed over to the Collectors."

"Why?"

Only a sigh. "I honestly never received a satisfying answer. What followed was a chase from Omega to Alingon with Collectors, Shadow Broker agents, and Cerberus in hot pursuit. This is also where I met Feron and, with his help, I was able to succeed in recovering Shepard. In the end, I decided to trust Cerberus. They promised to use their resources to bring Shepard back. Rebuild her, or what remained of her. Exactly as she was."

Samantha didn't realize she'd been chewing her lower lip until she felt the skin tingle. "Is she?"

Blinking in confusion, Liara asked, "Is she what?"

"Exactly as she was?"

A sad smile pulled at those dark blue lips. "I…I believe she is still in there. Somewhere."

Sam could swear she saw a glisten in Liara's eyes, but it might have just been the lighting. She felt a low ache of sympathy in her chest for the asari before her. _All right. Subject change. We're getting dangerously close to either a group cry or a suicide pact. And now that you know the whole story, are you going to help this woman find out who killed Commander Shepard?_

_Oh, you're God damn right I am._

_No one kills my commanding officer and gets away with it. Especially someone so attractive. That's just—just __**rude**__._

Waving at the tower of screens, Samantha prodded Liara. "You mentioned a theory on how the SR-1 stealth was breached? How would I help? You might be better off with Diana Allers. She's the investigative journalist around here. I'm just the comms geek."

Finally, Liara chuckled. Not quite as transforming a sound as Shepard's laugh, which was pure music. But still lovely in its own, breathy way. "As capable as I am sure Miss Allers is, I actually have more need of a 'comms geek,' as you put it."

Normally separate panes of cycling information, the wall of vid screens shifted to show one large image. A manifest of a ship on its way to the Citadel. Liara turned to Sam. "This is what I need. I believe a crew member aboard the Normandy sent a signal or otherwise gave away the Normandy's position to the Collectors. A ship is due to arrive at the Citadel in the next few days. It is carrying the original black box from the Normandy SR-1 recovered from a salvage operation on Alchera. I need you to analyze it."

Sam's jaw dropped. The memorial on Alchera had only been announced a few months ago, and had, ironically, been placed on the planet by Commander _bloody_ Shepard herself. The Alliance was just starting to send salvage teams to recover the Normandy wreckage, but with the colony disappearances and pending war with the batarians (_or Reapers, rather, as it turned out_), it wasn't a high priority. "How did you get this?"

"I have my sources, Specialist. I am a very good information broker," Liara said with a smile. "But I assure you, it was not cheap."

_That… almost sounds like a joke. Are we having a moment here?_

"Note to self: make friends with Liara T'Soni and then borrow credits." Sam counted it as a victory when the asari chuckled again. _I'm starting to get the hang of this. She's at least a better audience than Shep—_

_Don't speak ill of the dead._

…_Once dead._

…_Alive?_

_Wonderfully alive._

"Right. Analyzing comms signals. I have some experience with that," Sam deadpanned. "I'd be honored, Liara. I hope I can help you find what—or who, rather—you're looking for." Liara stood up, and this time was the one to offer a hand to shake, which Samantha accepted. Again, such smooth, pebbly palms with almost a scaly texture on the back of her hand. "Thank you, Liara. For telling me and… well… thank you."

Her eyes twinkled in a way very reminiscent of Shepard. "I hope to be thanking you soon, Samantha."

Unfortunately, a conversation like that didn't like being followed by attempts at sleep. Sam retired to her sleeper pod closest to the Mess Hall kitchen, but sleep refused to come. Her mind was too active, too restless. It should have been smug and dreaming of elcors taunting Shepard with bad advertisements. But instead…

_Brought her back… brought her back… brought her back…_ Sam attempted to think of how many times she'd heard that in passing. Garrus. Dr Chakwas, definitely. It was such a weird, inadequate statement. _Like… Shepard was a little lost puppy that needed to be taken home._

_Not, say, an amazing human woman who suffered a terrible death suffocating in space and was rebuilt as part robot to save the galaxy. No, "brought her back" doesn't quite suffice for something like that._ _A little …oversimplified._

Hours ticked by. The sleeper pod was equipped with a number of customizable features to help one sleep. Complete darkness. A variety of simulated skies with insects or birds or miscellaneous animal species chirping. City noises. Country noises. Colony noises. No noises. Sam tried them all, because her usual setting, XC-064, "Suburban colony with low traffic," wasn't cutting it.

She'd nearly given up and had the sleeper pod cover defrosted and the dim light of the Crew Deck filtered in. The Mess Hall beyond was empty at the early hour.

Sam couldn't quite reach her Omni-tool wrist to see if Shepard had returned from the Sur'Kesh mission. If she was safe. She hadn't realized how dependent she'd become on the Commander's existence over a short month. Shepard seemed invincible and, despite her sometimes surly demeanor, made victory look easy.

_Liara said, "I believe she is still in there. Somewhere." _

_If that's not Shepard, who __**is**__ she? Who did she used to be? What part of her has taken over? Can she come back? Should she come back? _

"_I fucking hate Cerberus."_

_Hmmm…_

"**I fucking hate Cerberus!"**

That was **not** in Samantha's head. She'd forgotten she'd turned off the sound dampeners in the pod during one of her earlier tossing and turning ideas that maybe some ambient ship noises might be more lulling. They were not. Squinting through the sleeper pod glass, Sam had an angled view of the Med Bay where two large forms shambled in followed by a thin salarian. She heard Garrus's agreement before she actually saw the turian also enter the Med Bay.

The Commander finally crossed Sam's line of sight as she holstered her shotgun onto the back of her armor and punched the outer wall of the Med Bay. Spiderwebs of cracks appeared around that glowing fist. Shepard glanced around the empty Crew Deck, and seemed to look right at the comms specialist. Or her sleeper pod, anyway.

Shepard looked terrible. The cuts along her jaw from her fistfight with Vega didn't seem to be healing. An angry orange leered underneath the skin, and was there a faint red tinge to her green eyes?

_So much for reducing stress levels. What the bloody hell happened?_

Liara padded up behind Shepard. Samantha saw a hand gently alight on to Shepard's shoulder, but was immediately brushed off. The asari's light voice wasn't audible.

Shepard's was. Sam wished it wasn't. It made her cringe.

"I said I'm **fine**, Liara," the Commander snarled slightly. "Cerberus was there. Again. If you want to be useful, find out how they're always a step ahead. **That's** what I need right now."

It made Sam's heart ache again. Because while Shepard's forehead pressed against the Med Bay glass, she couldn't see the way Liara's shoulders fell slightly. Or the concerned tilt of her head. Or the dejected way she turned and went back to her office.

After Shepard disappeared into the Med Bay to talk to their (_presumably_) new guests, Samantha ventured outside her sleeper pod and rubbed her eyes. They felt sandy and dry. Not enough time spent closed. She also had this dull pressure all along her body, especially in her shoulders and head. Her body was protesting the lack of sleep.

Yawning deeply, she shuffled over to the blessedly full coffee pot and poured a large cup. _No point in keeping up with the pretense of sleeping __**now**__. _While she sipped, Sam read over the mission updates from Xian.

[Mission log—Priority: Sur'Kesh. "Female krogan extracted to Normandy SR-2 in fulfillment of krogan-turian-salarian war summit agreement. Cerberus hostilities engaged on Sur'Kesh. No Normandy crew casualties. Krogan war chief and female to remain aboard Normandy. Salarian doctor given permission from Alliance HQ to use Normandy Med Bay facilities and resources for genophage cure research. Krogan female in serious condition following Cerberus invasion of salarian homeworld."]

[Mission update: "Return to Citadel."]

_Well. Shit._

Samantha glanced back at the goings-on in the Med Bay. Commander Shepard and Garrus Vakarian were hovering around two new faces and one old one. Urdnot Wrex alternated between looking grim and looking pleased. The object of his (_terrifying_) affections was the aforementioned krogan female.

How they knew she was female, Sam had no idea. She was as tall and broad as Wrex, but modestly covered by a series of overlapping shawls and robes. Almost shamanistic or religious. A veil over her mouth bounced occasionally, indicating she was well enough to talk to the Commander.

The mouth of the salarian doctor, by comparison, was nearly a blur. Though the Med Bay door was open, Sam couldn't make out more than a frantic pattering of words. Which she assumed were his. Garrus certainly didn't seem the type to be that hyperactive.

So intently focused on the Med Bay, and also so deprived of sleep, Samantha hadn't noticed the Commander leave the room. Not until she was standing nearly in front of the comms specialist.

"You look like shit, Traynor."

Blinking blearily, Samantha slowly turned to meet Shepard's gaze. She looked slightly less terrible up close. It took Sam a second to realize she'd been staring at the Commander's lips before shifting her gaze upward to curious green eyes.

Remembering how Liara was treated for being sympathetic, Samantha instead tried reciprocation. "Always a pleasure, Commander. You're looking well, yourself. And by 'well,' I might, in fact, mean 'like charred pyjak droppings.'"

Shepard's cheek twitched at the challenge. "Talking back to your commanding officer?"

"I'm off duty, ma'am. And I was speculating, hypothetically, that you **might** look like charred pyjak droppings. To come right out and say so would be just rude, wouldn't you agree?"

A nostril flared as Shepard's mouth pinched. For a second, Samantha worried she'd pushed it too far in her sleep-addled stated. She was starting to mentally prepare herself for some sort of punishing demerit task when she heard that familiar exhale.

The Commander nodded, "Very rude." The two women watched the salarian doctor fuss over the female. Wrex and Garrus seemed to be immersed in some sort of bro-chat. Their hand gestures didn't imply a tasteful conversation.

"So that is a female krogan," Sam observed as she took another swig of coffee. "I'm not sure what I was expecting."

"Eve is definitely something." Shepard was appreciative. Her hand wandered to the handle of the shotgun on her back. "She doesn't take Wrex's shit. And I watched her shotgun two Cerberus troopers in the face, one right after another. She's a fighter." There was something the Commander wasn't saying. A pair of wrinkles appeared between her eyebrows. She looked… _What is that? Uncertainty? Insecurity? _

_Shame?_

"Traynor? Weren't you in a sleeper pod when I came in?"

"Aw, Commander. Were you watching me sleep?"

That was meant to be silly. Not flirty _(sure, Traynor. Sure.)_ or coquettish or anything other than a throwaway teasing with no answer required.

But, strangely enough, Shepard answered.

She blushed.

She actually **blushed**.

Now, the Stupid Sam would dig in to that, and probe and tease and see how long the joke might hold until Shepard either yelled at her or fled the room. It was an immature response bred from never having a sibling to torment as a child, so Samantha sought it out amongst other people. To generally mixed results.

But Responsible Sam held back. Savored the moment, certainly. But she didn't want to make Shepard feel more embarrassed.

_After everything she's been through…_

"I couldn't sleep, ma'am. Plus it's not every day you get to see a female krogan capable of curing the genophage for an entire species. Do you happen to know the protocol for that? Do I ask for her autograph, or maybe get a picture for my social network or…?" Sam trailed off lightly.

The Commander's eyes crinkled with relief while the pink in her cheeks faded. "I'll have to check the Alliance guidelines. I'm sure there's something in there for starry-eyed specialists meeting their heroines at last."

"Oh, Eve's not my hero. Strong competition, though. They both save lots of lives. I might have to boil it down to numbers. Wars are won and lost with numbers, you know." _Oh great. Stupid Sam certainly couldn't stay away for long, could she?_

_Shut it. I'm too tired._

"So they're kind of important."

"Very." Sam waited for Shepard to ask who her hero was. Or tease further. Or break down crying and have a coming-to-terms with her raging emotions. _God, you're truly delirious, Traynor._

But Shepard just glanced behind them, possibly at Liara's cabin, with that wrinkled brow. Turning to Sam, Shepard glared at her sternly.

"Go back to sleep, Traynor. I don't want to see your face until we dock at the Citadel. You're no good to me dead tired."

Saluting crisply, Samantha uttered a perfunctory "aye-aye" and shuffled over to the kitchen sink to dump out her coffee. She ended up staring at the deep brown liquid spiral down the drain for a few seconds longer than necessary. She had to blink to snap herself out of it, and by the time she turned around, Shepard was already gone.

Sam climbed back into her waiting sleeper pod, and put XC-064 back on. This time, the low thrum of skycar traffic, the chirp of crickets, and the deep black and purple "sky" worked their magic. Just before the delicious black fog of sleep swept Sam away, she smiled with a thought only a Stupid Sam could have.

_So I'm good to you, am I?_

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_A fairly chatty chapter, I admit. Despite Liara's growing sense of humor in the game, that really only seems to come out when she's totally at ease. Until then, just ever so serious. _

_Details! Nerdy nerdy details! If you read the codex entry of the quarian ship with Tali and all the admirals, it escaped the whole geth war above Rannoch because it was an advanced ship with a stealth drive. I WONDER WHERE THEY GOT THE IDEA FOR THAT? _

_I've been itching to get back to the Citadel for quite sometime. It's getting a little boring with the same space routine day in and day out (or rather, chapter in and chapter out). Time to liven things up! More characters! More drama! More sarcasm!  
_

_Also, thanks so much for the generous reviews this last round. I was having a terrible go of work and got rather stuck, but some particularly kind words and enthusiasm from y'all made me reread the story and rediscover the things I loved about the game and Sam and all that. I mean, I wrote this entire chapter pretty much in one night. What I'm saying is: you guys are rad._

_EDIT: Several readers have pointed out that the Reapers weren't invading Sur'Kesh at the end of the mission plus the salarians were **also** newly privvy to the stealth drive technology. And I mislabeled the Normandy like a total rookie. I have adjusted the story accordingly. I'm all about accurate things. Until I decide I'm not.  
_


	14. Pit Stop

Samantha thought she would dream. She slept the entire trip back to the Citadel. Which was pretty easy when there was no one to wake her. Or summon her for random tasks. Or ask her to track down an alleged traitor who destroyed the Normandy, killed Commander Shepard, and would be responsible for the deaths of the Normandy crew and everyone Shepard failed to protect while being dead.

_You know. Stuff like that._

_Throw in blaming him or her (or them) for the Reapers too. Just for good measure. The stakes just aren't high enough._

But, no dreams. No nightmares of Shepard suffocating in space while her crew watched helplessly. Just that pleasant, impenetrable black.

Until Engineer Rashad tapped on the glass lid of Sam's sleeper pod. Then finally hit the intercom.

"Traynor. You overslept."

"Mmmph."

A long pause.

"I'm telling Shepard," Morena taunted.

_Shit._

That did it. Sam's eyes popped open and she cracked her neck. Smacking her lips, the comms specialist elbowed the pod door open with a hiss. "Mmmm, what time is it?"

"Late. Most of the crew is already on the Citadel. Supply runs."

"Shepard?"

Morena glanced around her conspiratorially. She was a little afraid of the Commander. "She was the first off when we docked. And… look." The engineer's Omni-tool sparked to life. Sam rolled her shoulders and stumbled out of the upright pod. Rubbing her eyes, she read the correspondence dated only an hour ago.

[Message received: "To all engineering personnel: We are picking up two new crew members, Engineers Kenneth Donnelly and Gabriella Daniels. They will be taking over drive core maintenance for the duration of the mission. Please see Lead Engineer Gregory Adams for shift change assignment."]

The woman looked at Samantha expectantly, then huffed in irritation when Sam stumbled down the stairs toward the warm embrace of the coffee pot in the kitchen. "Well?"

"Well what? …Thank God we're restocking. I don't think we had enough loose rations, MREs or nutrient bars to keep everyone, let alone two new mouths, fed for another whirlwind tour of the galaxy," Sam quipped while digging around in one of the lower cabinets for an aforementioned nutrient bar for a snack. The stack had shrunk considerably, and she hissed in dismay. "Blueberry. Always the bloody blueberry ones left. Who the hell eats this shit?"

Irritably exhaling through her nose, Morena Rashad waved her hand dismissively. "Shepard's the only one I've seen eat those." _…really? Could they be her favorite?_

_And why do you care?_

"And you're missing the point, Traynor."

"Oh, was the point to build a little cabin of this blueberry shit in Shepard's armor locker so she'll stop buying it? Because you're the engineer here, Rashad, but if you want I could rig a nice—"

"**Traynor**."

"What?"

The engineer looked panic-stricken. "Am I… getting fired?"

Samantha swung around mid-unwrapping. "What?! Why would you think that?"

"She got two new engineers. Not just one, **two**. Doesn't that mean someone has to go?" Wringing her hands, Rashad frowned deeply. Sam took a hesitant bite of her repulsive breakfast before clasping a reassuring hand to the engineer's shoulder.

"If you were getting fired, you'd know by now. Does Shepard seem like the type of person to dawdle about something like that?"

Morena shook her head.

"Well then, there you go. Our fearless Commander's mood, terrible as it can be sometimes, actually works in your favor on this. And maybe she knows something we don't. I vaguely remember their names from the retrofit logs. Weren't they on the SR-2 when it was Cerberus?"

Suddenly, Rashad broke into a wide-eyed smile. "You're right! They supervised the FBA coupling installation. Bang-up job too, it would have taken **forever** to maintain the—"

"Morena."

Chuckling, the engineer trailed off. "Oh, right. I forgot. You don't bore me to tears with your algorithms and I don't force you to care about drive core vent procedure."

"That's my girl. Now, I better check my messages. I'll see you later?" Samantha sighed as she choked down another bite of the sickly sweet blueberry protein bar. She watched Morena cheerfully round the corner before firing up her own Omni-tool.

Several galaxy map updates. It seems there was a full docket now. Missing teams to investigate for both the turians and krogan. Their new salarian doctor, Mordin Solus, needed more supplies to continue his genophage cure. A distress signal from Eden Prime. _Not Reapers? What the hell is Cerberus doing hitting human colonies?_

"_Humanity first" my arse._

Xian had done a terrific job with the feeds. Organized, concise, thorough. _I wonder if anyone even noticed I was gone._

[Message received: "Rise and shine, Traynor. I'm trapped in meetings at the embassy. I need you to pick up a few things for me around the wards. We'll call it even for being four hours late for work. Without even docking your pay. –A.S."]

_Oh, Commander Shepard. You truly are a benevolent dictator._

A NavPoint to Huerta Memorial followed, indicating where the drop-off location was. _And if I wasn't a yeoman before, I think this makes it official now. _Luckily, it was a short list. A few things from one merchant on Zakera Ward, and an item actually at the hospital gift shop. _Easy enough._

Sam was actually glad to have something to do, even if was just running errands. It was strange to see the ship so quiet, and she didn't fancy twiddling her thumbs in the CIC waiting for QEC updates. Upon exiting the elevator, Sam counted only four crew members in their (_rather comfy) _chairs going about their duties. The rest were probably on the Citadel already. Or, like Sam, stealing a nap or just enjoying the downtime.

Padding lightly down the jet bridge from the bow airlock, the comms specialist made her way over to the taxi station behind the security curtain. This time, there was no Diana Allers to compete for a cab. A message beep on her Omni-tool indicated Diana was over in Cargo Hold B interviewing refugees. The good reporter didn't mention her latest subject matter, just that "My camera drone needs a drink as badly as I do. Also, if you see that bitch from Westerlund News, push her out an airlock for me."

_I'll keep that in mind, Allers._

The trip to Zakera Ward unfortunately gave Samantha time to think. That blush on Shepard's face crept in to Sam's mind. It was mostly the deer-in-headlights expression that truly sold it. Back on Arcturus, this situation would have been the topic of much speculation and giggling amongst her coworkers. The non-combat personnel had less to worry about in regards to fraternization, so their sense of humor could be much more lewd and crude.

Only one of the other women in comms R&D on Arcturus shared Sam's love of the ladies, though she was married. _Lucky sod. _They still had a jolly time of things, even though Mary had gotten Samantha into trouble that one time she had convinced the young comms specialist to flirt with an electronics engineer in the neighboring department. That poor engineer, an intern fresh from Academy, didn't know what to make of Sam's awkward, alcohol-fueled, fast-talking, algorithmic ramblings. Plus she also wasn't into women. Double fail.

_Mary. I hope she's okay. She was supposed to go on maternity leave just after I left for Earth for the retrofits. She said she wanted to be a stay-at-home mom on Terra Nova. I hope she followed that dream._

But without Mary's high spirits and infectious laughter to make light of things, Sam was left with her own mental filter to pick apart her sleepy encounter with Shepard. A close-quarters ship with a habit of being out in space for weeks on end didn't seem like the right place to start assuming things. Especially out loud.

_All right. I said something stupid. Par for the course. Shepard blushed. Highly unusual, if not impossible. Theories?_

_Lofty possibility: Shepard is hopelessly in love with you and was pained to admit her burgeoning feelings of desire. Blushing equates to shyness. Odds? About a million to one._

_Oh, how precious. Preciously terrifying. Also: unrealistic._

_What else._

_Likely possibility: Shepard was in a terrible mood and wasn't expecting that off-the-cuff response from a mouthy subordinate. Rather than vehemently deny it, and look like an idiot, she said nothing. Blushing equals suppressed rage. Odds? Probably ten to one._

_I think we have a winner._

…_what, no middle ground? Maybe it was suppressed rage over her burgeoning feelings for you._

_Oh shut up._

Samantha shook her head just as the skycar arrived in Zakera Ward. As funny as it had been at the time, this whole awkward joke thing with Shepard was eating more brain cells than it was worth. Especially without knowing exactly what happened. Popping open her Omni-tool, Sam glanced at the map next to the taxi station to find the merchant Shepard wanted. _Right. Let's actually accomplish something today._

She didn't recognize the name, but strolled briskly through the ward and took in the sights. It hadn't changed all that much from a month ago, despite a slight increase in foot traffic. She had to resist the urge to check out the salarian game merchant to see if there were any new releases.

Grinding to a halt, Samantha had to double check her message just to make sure it wasn't just some horrible mistake.

_God. Not him._

The shop Shepard had sent her comms specialist to was headed by a volus. A penny-pinching, scam artist of a volus. Who tried to sell a bloody toothbrush to Sam Traynor for about 6,000 credits. And who also apparently had a photographic memory.

"No discounts—" he gasped with a clicking noise, "—for any reason. If you want—" Wheeze. "—the Cision Pro Mark-4, it's 5,999 credits."

_Oh, how I missed him. And at least he hasn't raised the price. Something to strive for._

"Faelen Din. A pleasure like always," Samantha greeted him brightly. She strolled up to the stubby creature and showed him her Omni-tool. "Let's not waste each other's time. I'm here for these items. For Commander Shepard."

The shopkeeper wheezed gleefully and hobbled his way behind the counter. He produced two small, rectangular boxes vacuum-sealed with a navy blue (_wrapping?)_ paper. The smaller, longer, skinnier box was actually the heavier of the two. Sam asked if she needed to pay for these, but he just gasped that they were already taken care of. And to have a wonderful day.

On her way out, a familiar voice stopped the comms specialist dead in her tracks.

"I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite store on the Citadel." A flat wall advertisement showed a holo of the Commander grinning broadly with her hands on her hips. It was the face that really got to Sam. It was just such an alien expression for the normally subdued Shepard. Also, it was plainly obvious that the smile wasn't extending to her green eyes, making the whole thing all the more fake.

_Scary._

Not sure when the Commander needed her stuff, Samantha decided to opt on the side of sooner rather than later. Plus she had an itch to do some shopping and she'd rather enjoy it without an impatient Commander hanging over her head. Because then—

"Hey! Traynor! Where you headed?"

It took Samantha half a second to realize Garrus was the one shouting at her. He just materialized out of a herd of turian, asari and human shoppers, his mandibles flexed into what she took for a grin. She nodded an acknowledgement, though wondering inwardly if she should salute him. Surely he outranked her, but… _Bah_.

Gesturing with the boxes tucked under her arm, Sam pointed at the closest rapid transit station. "Special delivery for Commander Shepard at Huerta Memorial. Where are **you** headed, Mr. Vakarian?"

"Mr. Vakarian is my father. Just Garrus." His beady eyes sparkled with warmth and he stuck out a three-fingered hand. "Care to share a cab? I'm overdue to visit Ashley at the hospital. She must be feeling better. She threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't stop by." He tilted his head when Sam raised an eyebrow. They regarded each other for a moment, before Garrus supplemented. "And I'll pay."

"Sold, Garrus."

"I swear to the spirits, you humans are as stingy as a volus. You owe me a decent conversation on the cab ride, at the very least."

Squawking indignantly, Sam again gestured with the pair of boxes. "You're the rich, hired-gun killer swimming in credits. I'm just the lowly comms specialist trying to make it in the big city. On a government salary."

"Stingy as a volus," Garrus repeated as he held the skycar door open. The car lifted off just as Sam got settled with the two boxes balancing on her knees. Fiddling with the autopilot, Garrus waved a hand over Sam's cargo. "What's that about? Contraband? Better come clean. I used to be a C-Sec officer, you know."

"I didn't know that, actually," Sam replied. She patted her wares. "And I honestly have no idea. This is Shepard's stuff. I'm just picking it up for her. If I was volunteered to be a drug mule or smuggle some stolen artifact, I'll be a little annoyed."

"And after the cavity search, you'll be more than annoyed. C-Sec procedure is pretty thorough about that." He accentuated "thorough" with a dangerous, but amused, tone.

The skycar lurched as Garrus gripped the controls. They suddenly tipped upward and accelerated. Away from the flow of traffic.

"Um, Garrus? Something you'd care to tell me about?"

Grinning in his toothy, jagged way, Garrus nodded at the windshield. "Shortcut. I worked for C-Sec, remember? Always hated the autopilot route around the wards. This way is faster."

It most certainly was. And very close to the wards. Their little blue skycar flitted between buildings and alternated above and below jutting bridges. Sam gripped the arm rest of her seat tightly. The drive up the ward arm from this perspective was dizzying. The Citadel's arms were mostly closed, so Sam could see the other four wards floating around and above her as they zoomed toward the center circle at the heart of the station.

"So… umm…" _Yes, let's focus on something other than our pending death against the side of an apartment building. _"What… do you think of this whole turian-krogan alliance… thing?"

The turian driver chuckled. "Three years ago, I would have said it was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. Especially considering how many big, dumb, krogan brutes I put away for C-Sec. But little things like Saren, Collectors, Reapers… Wrex… can give you a healthy dose of perspective."

_No doubt._ Sam asked him what he meant.

"I can't say I looked at Wrex back on the Citadel three years ago and thought to myself, 'Now here's the great unifier of the krogan.' Plus I think he's getting uglier as the years go by. But he's sacrificed a lot, and willing to sacrifice more to help **my** people? You don't get more noble than that."

_No doubt, indeed._

"War, and the threat of war, changes people a lot. I wasn't always the dashing hero you see before you either, Specialist."

Sam chuckled. "Perish the thought, Mr. Vaka—Garrus. I assumed you hatched this way, charm and all."

"Turians don't hatch, Traynor. We're born the old-fashioned way," he winked at Samantha. "Anyway, I used to just be a frustrated cop on the Citadel, before..." Garrus trailed off thoughtfully.

But Sam's interest was now piqued. "What changed you?"

"Shepard, of course."

"How?"

"Well, the ordeal with Saren, which if you haven't heard about, you should. Exciting story. I feature in there largely, so you know it's got to be good." That glittering wink again. "But when we weren't chasing a rogue SpecTRe around the galaxy in the Normandy SR-1, we were kicking ass with the Old Shepard. She… taught me a lot."

"Like what? Give me an example." Right after she said that, Sam realized how little she knew about Shepard. New or Old. And what the difference even was.

Garrus clicked his teeth and a mandible twitched as he jerked the skycar down a tight alley. _He was right about knowing a shortcut. We're nearly at the Presidium._

"The value of justice over revenge, for one. I spent years of my C-Sec career chasing down a criminal. Organ trafficking. Cloning. Experimentation. The worst garbage the galaxy had to offer. When I had the chance to finally make him pay for all the innocent lives he'd destroyed, Shepard stopped me from pulling the trigger. He deserved justice over revenge, she'd said. That stuck with me. To be an angel of justice rather than death."

Sam smiled lightly. "An **arch**angel, as it were?" Garrus's dossier from the SR-2 came to mind, as did a few choice comic book stories allegedly based on his exploits. But you never really knew what was fact or fiction. _Unless you asked him. …Or her._

"See, you know more than you think you do, Traynor. Even two years later, after she was back and wild and angry… that's how I know that's Shepard."

"What do you mean?"

Garrus sighed as he tipped the steering wheel. A clawed finger ran over the deep scar tissue on his right cheek. "I was betrayed on Omega right before the Collector mission started. I tracked down the member of my team that'd done it, with Shepard's help. The whole time she was encouraging me to put a bullet in Sidonis's head and be done with it. But when the time came… she wouldn't let me. She didn't want me to do something I'd later regret, that **she** would regret pushing me to do."

_So… hell bent on revenge only to have mercy when it counts. I wonder what changed? _

"She was right. I was tripping over revenge around every corner on Omega, trying to make that hell hole better. To give people hope. That justice could finally come to the lawless. If I forgot that, it would have made all the sacrifices my team made just …nothing," Garrus continued with some venom. But he softened. "**That's** Commander Shepard, Traynor. **That's** what she does for people. Hopefully she'll remember that Shepard as well as I do. Otherwise… what are we even doing here?"

Zipping into the rapid transit station, Garrus set the skycar down a little roughly. He sheepishly apologized, saying landings had never been his strong suit. He then teased Sam about still owing him a decent conversation, though he said he'd settle for a drink at Purgatory when they had the time. Samantha agreed.

They rode the elevator up to the hospital floor mostly in silence. Garrus admitted he'd never been a fan of talking in elevators, then chuckled. Sam didn't understand the joke.

She jogged over to the gift shop terminal while her turian companion made a beeline straight for Ashley Williams' room past the security barrier. Firing up her Omni-tool, Sam confirmed with the clerk that a bottle of wine was waiting for her to collect for Commander Shepard. Samantha's Omni-tool chirped in approval as she made her way toward Ashley's room. As the NavPoint confirmed her destination past the security curtain, Sam studied the wine. It seemed like a decent vintage, though Samantha wasn't really much for wine.

The comms specialist was still turning the bottle over in her hands and barely noticed she'd passed through the sliding door into Ashley's hospital room. But she did notice the chasm of silence that followed as two humans and one turian stared back at Sam. _…is there something on my face? _She had to resist the urge to touch her hair insecurely, though the collection of stuff she was carrying would have made that impossible.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I'm probably interrupting. Should I come back later?"

"Are you kidding? You're the only one who brought alcohol. You can stay. Everyone else can leave." It was Ashley who made the sarcastic quip. The dark-haired woman was still sporting some wicked bruises and cuts around her face. Probably a broken cheek and nose trying to heal. There was also an array of tubes and bandages along her arms and chest. But she seemed cheerful.

Smiling lightly, Shepard stood up from her seat next to Ashley's bed. "No, you're right on time, Traynor. You've earned a drink."

Shepard gratefully took the wine from Sam and poured everyone a small shot of burgundy liquid into the group of plastic cups next to the bed. The Commander blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes as she focused on her task. Clad in her dress uniform, Shepard seemed oddly out of place. And also sad.

"A toast," she said as she poured a fifth glass and set it out between them.

Samantha started to raise her hand with her question. "A toast for who? And are we waiting for someone?" She gestured at the last cup.

Garrus cleared his throat. "Wrex is getting poked and prodded by Mordin. Liara would be here, but she's got some secret, **shadowy** business to attend to." He glanced at Shepard and Ashley significantly, who nodded. _More annoying mystery. I should start keeping a log of all the times they make me feel left out with their secret jokes, then choose the right moment to explode and demand an explanation. _

_You know, a mature response._

"To Kaidan." Shepard's voice was ringing. Garrus and Ashley were a half second behind her, while Sam was the last to raise her glass. They sipped in amiable silence for a moment.

Thankfully (_yet not), _it was Ashley who ruined the moment by saying something stupid. Rather than Samantha being the one to ask who Kaidan was. "Shepard. I still beat myself up about why."

"Don't, Ash." Shepard stiffened. She was cold. Severe. The plastic cup in her hand disappeared into a tightly balled fist.

"Why did you pick me?"

"...Do you think it was easy? A million things ran through my head on Virmire. Strategy. Resources. Skills. Abilities. History. Kaidan was an only child. You have three sisters. Your father is dead. His parents are alive. He's a biotic, a lieutenant. You were a marine and a gunnery chief. You were both afraid. He had a nuclear bomb. You had a team of salarians who would die, too. I considered everything. I chose you, Williams."

_Oh. I do know this story. It was on the ANN. It must be the third anniversary of the bombing on Virmire._

"Shepard, I—"

"Don't, Ash. I made the call. I miss him. I will always miss him. But I can't bring John back."

"Kaidan," Sam said softly, though she wished she hadn't when two pairs of eyes swung to meet hers. She shrank. She already missed those few precious seconds where an angry Shepard and a sad Williams forgot a comms specialist and a turian were still in the room.

Shepard's eyes widened. "…What did you say?"

"You—you said 'John.' But you're talking about Kaidan Alenko. …right?" Samantha stuttered under the Commander's stare.

Only Shepard's raspy exhale could be heard. Garrus cleared his throat again, then offered his glass of wine to Sam. He mumbled something about "Not dextro compatible," though Sam had downed the drink before he'd even finished his sentence.

The silence deepened, and Sam regretted saying anything. She wasn't sure what was going on. If everyone knew something she didn't. _John... John... Shepard's brother? _That would certainly make an impossible decision even worse, if the Commander thought she'd let her brother die twice. Maybe there was a time when Shepard talked to her crew about these things, and Ashley and Garrus and everyone laughed and cried together. Rather than now, with this awkward half-knowledge that helped no one. Sam sighed.

Ashley was turning her cup over in her hands and studying it. Shepard continued, more softly this time. "You're about to be humanity's second SpecTRe, Ashley. You're a great soldier. A great leader. You have nothing to wonder about. You can be proud of what you've done, what you've accomplished. You want to honor Kaidan's memory? Then keep doing better by him."

"Are you?" Ashley's voice rose in challenge. Garrus inched closer in his chair, wanting to be peacemaker. "Now now. Williams. I thought you two cleared up the whole Cerberus thing up before we got here. Working together to kick their asses now, remember? We've been doing all the work, Ashley, but we promise to save you a couple."

But Ashley ignored him and stared expectantly at Shepard. She repeated her earlier question. "Are **you** doing better by Kaidan?"

Shepard wouldn't (_couldn't?) _answer. She started to say a few things, but Sam had no idea where she was going with any of it.

"I'm trying—I was going… The thing is, I…" The Commander slumped down in her chair in defeat. Garrus popped out of his and crossed his arms.

"Now look: you're both damn good soldiers, all right? Shake hands or punch each other or just get over it. In case you hadn't noticed, the galaxy has something of a Reaper infestation going on. People are dying. **Lots** of people."

The turian glanced over at Ashley. "Williams, you're a great marine. But you're about as hard-headed as a krogan. We're on your side. So get better and get on board and help us blow those bastards out of the sky."

He saved his most damning words for his Commander. "And you, Shepard. You used to wear the Alliance blue like a shield. I liked that soldier. She had honor. You looked out for us. Now, I know Cerberus pissed you off a little, but I need to know you'll have my back when the time counts. And so does Williams."

Shepard's glare was pure acid. The red twinge in her eyes noticeably sparkled. It made Sam's insides turn to jelly. It made Garrus laugh. "**That's** what I'm talking about. That spark. I don't know about you, Williams, but that right there is what I followed to Ilos. To the galactic core. And what I'm following to a great big pile of Reaper corpses."

Spying the last full cup of wine on the table next to Ashley's bed, Samantha carefully and slowly snatched it. She made a mental toast before downing it. _To Liara, for having the foresight to avoid this whole bloody thing._

Ashley and Shepard watched each other for a few lingering moments. The lieutenant commander was the first to offer the olive branch. She sat up straight in her bed, and saluted her Commander. Shepard saluted back.

"Anyway. I got you something, Ash. It's not much. But…" Trailing off, Shepard walked over to Sam and picked up the wider, flatter of the two packages. "You can thank the Specialist here for picking it up while I was having my ear talked off by Udina about bullshit. Otherwise you would have had to hobble your ass to Zakera Ward and gotten it yourself." No one believed Shepard's gruff tone.

Ashley muttered about how sweet that was, and tore into the paper. Inside was a worn, thick book. Like, with pages and everything. Samantha could just barely read the title on the spine, it was so dull with age.

_The Collected Alfred Tennyson. _

_…poetry?_

"Shepard… thank you," Ashley breathed huskily. She struggled to keep her emotions in check. "I've been… going crazy here. It'll be nice to have something to read. And my dad's favorite… thank you." Even through her battered face, Ash was …beautiful. And truly touched.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Shepard mumbled about Ash needing to get her rest. Just as the three of them stood up, Ashley's doctor entered the room and shooed them all away. But Shepard stood for a second, unyielding. She stared at Ash, then smiled. "Doc, you need anything: you let me know."

As they walked out of Ashley's room, Garrus saw a woman he recognized and darted off. The object of his interest was an attractive human doctor. Samantha could barely hear the trill of a French accent, and it was pleased to speak to Garrus. _So, Mr. Vakarian. Got a thing for human women, hm?_

"That's Dr. Michel," Shepard explained simply when she noticed where Sam was looking. "Garrus got her out of a bind on the Citadel back when he worked for C-Sec. They're old friends."

_Ah. _

_That doesn't mean I'm not going to make fun of him about it later._

Sam and the Commander walked in companionable silence back to the lobby area of Huerta Memorial. It was a few long seconds before Samantha remembered she was still carrying the last package for the Commander. She took a few quick steps to dart in front of Shepard.

"I almost forgot! The last thing on your list," Samantha swept her hair behind her ear awkwardly as she half-apologized. But when she attempted to hand it over, Shepard wouldn't accept it.

"That's not for me. That's yours."

"F—for me?"

"You earned it, Specialist Traynor." Shepard didn't wait for gratitude. Or an explanation. Or to even watch Sam open it. She sidestepped around the comms specialist and made her way over to the window. A drell stood waiting.

And for the second time today, Samantha witnessed a Shepard she didn't recognize. First that smiling woman in that advertisement. And now this bright, relaxed creature talking to that drell. They talked closely together in a pair of chairs, their heads bobbing with their shared enthusiasm.

For some reason, Sam felt a tight pang of …jealousy. _Who was this man, who can transform Shepard so easily? _There was a sinking feeling when she remembered that gossipy conversation with Jack a few short weeks ago. _That must be Thane. The one Shepard is so close to that it was mistaken for a relationship._

Sam could see why. Their body language was open and inviting. Utterly at ease. She found herself wishing she had such an effect on someone. Even just a little. It made her miss Isabella a bit. Before Sam could start descending back into self-pity, she remembered she'd just received a present. Waiting to be unwrapped.

A chit on the top of the box displayed a short holographic message.

["Thanks for your help with that off-duty task the other day. Good communication starts with healthy gums, after all. –Shep"]

_It couldn't be._

Samantha tore open the dark blue plastic. Inside was a brand new Cision Pro Mark-4, fully paid for.

This New (_old?)_ Shepard was something Sam could get used to.

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_MREs are Meals Ready to Eat. In case you didn't know that. I figured space on a ship would be sort of limited to having piles of vegetables, bread and meat lying around. _

_Whew. I spoke too soon about last chapter being chatty. This one takes the cake. _

_All right, the next chapter is mostly outlined except for a wrap-up, and I'd like to offer an open-ended poll of sorts. Samantha will have the opportunity to ask Shepard a personal question (as the scene develops) and I was wondering what y'all would like her to ask about and Shepard to answer. The baseball? Cerberus? Horizon? The SR-1? Shepard's tattoos? Liara? The blueberry protein bars?_

_That's not to say any of these topics __**won't**__ be addressed later, but I'm trying to get a feel for what is the most up in the air as far as character development threads. …though I might override everyone and do what I want anyway. Because that's how I roll. But still… thought I'd ask!_

_EDIT: THE POLL IS NOW CLOSED. I have compiled a list of reviews from both the FFN and DA versions of this chapter. The most-voted question will be answered in Chapter 15._


	15. Second Circle

Oh, Samantha Traynor's gums were in paradise. She stood in front of the mirror in the women's restroom, her new toothbrush frothing as it whisked crumbs and plaque from her white teeth. Peering through the reflection, she saw a reverse-image of Diana Allers behind her trying to apply make-up from a distance. The reporter squinted while her mouth jutted out in a pouty duck face. She trailed dark red lipstick over her lips.

"What were you and Ensign Copeland bickering about earlier?"

"I'm sorry, you'll have to enunciate. I didn't hear a word you just said," Diana neutrally demanded as she smacked her lips to even out the color.

She was right, though. Sam's question, muffled by whirring and foam, was more like "Wha wuh ya an' essin' co'lan bick'run 'bout er-re-er?" _What, can't you read my mind yet, Allers?_

Spitting out the last of the toothpaste and rinsing, Samantha stood up and repeated her question to the mirror. "I said: what were you and Ensign Copeland bickering about earlier? I heard about it from Adams."

Allers waved her hand dismissively. "I hate this close quarters shit. Everyone who doesn't like one of my opinion segments can just storm into my room and bitch about it. The good ensign wasn't pleased about my most recent op-ed about Terra Nova."

Samantha deadpanned while mockingly mimicking Allers' wave. "Contrary to what your ego might believe, I don't actually watch everything you air. I do **work** on this ship from time to time. What did you say this time?"

"Traynor. I'm hurt. I thought our blossoming relationship at the very **least** would score me a few insincere compliments from you."

"Try buying me dinner first. Sometimes a girl likes a little romance before she becomes a shameless groupie."

"Always so hard to get," Diana smirked. Samantha turned around and waited for the reporter to continue. "All I said in the segment was to focus on priorities. Terra Nova is a losing front, but if we divert some of those forces, we could save five colonies rather than fail big at one."

"That's cold, Allers. Maybe he was from Terra Nova. How would you feel if someone reduced Bekenstein to a statistic?" Samantha wondered how she'd feel if Horizon was on the chopping block of Diana's priorities. _Bloody awful, for starters. Secondly, pissed. Thirdly…_ Sam's stomach rumbled. _Thirdly, hungry apparently._

Diana's mouth become a hard line. "You, and Mister Copeland, are putting words into my mouth. I know the price of war. I stare at it from the moment I wake up. Even after I go to sleep, I see this shit in my damn dreams. So first off, I'm not saying Terra Nova isn't important, or someone's home, or anything like that. All I said was: if you do the math, more lives, homes, **everything**, could have a better chance.

"…At least Shepard backed me up."

The mention of the Commander perked up Sam's ears. Since all those little revelations on the Citadel earlier, Samantha's curiosity was in danger of boiling over. She just had so many questions. But other than a ship-wide message saying the Normandy wouldn't be casting off until tomorrow morning, Shepard hadn't been seen since yesterday.

_Not since her little pep talk in Ashley's hospital room, anyway. Or her secret rendezvous with a drell assassin._

…_That's not fair._

_You haven't seen Liara, and you don't assume she's off to secret trysts in the Lower Wards._

…_Oh, no. I just assume Liara is smuggling the black box of the destroyed Normandy SR-1 underneath the Alliance's nose for me to analyze during her downtime. Just another boring, mundane day in the life of an information broker. "Yes, I'll have some tea and treason with my scone."_

Shaking her head, Sam tried to put some vague, subdued interest in her voice. "Oh? What did the Commander say?"

Allers was impressed. "Oddly enough, I got her blessing that I could express my opinions. …Then followed up with a threat about 'until I disallow it.' A real motivational speaker. But… she didn't shut me down or kick me to the curb. So there's that." _Her impression of Shepard is way off. The Commander's voice is more husky than that. More… more…_

_Yes? More what?_

"You're not wearing your service uniform, are you?" Diana looked over Sam's clothing.

The comms specialist smirked and shot Allers a withering glare. "You seem to overestimate the range of clothing I own. On a warship. With teeny tiny lockers. I left my evening wear on Horizon… assuming I can even still squeeze into my prom dress."

"God, please don't wear dress blues. I'll look like your date to some navy ball. Which, I've done more than a few times. Gets real old real fast," Diana moaned as she crossed her arms.

"Spit it out, Allers. What is wrong with my outfit? I thought we were just getting a drink at Purgatory. If you're asking me on a date… a) you suck at it and b) your timing is rather last minute," Samantha quipped.

Allers fired up her Omni-tool, but spared a dirty look Sam's way. "We **are** getting a drink. But it looks like there's some swanky club party going on at Purgatory tonight. 'Dress to impress, or be left at the door' the invite says in so many words."

_Shit._ Thinking longingly back to her one, lone, black dress, the comms specialist sighed. "Well, another time then? I don't think we have time to hit the wards and go shopping." _You might have mentioned this earlier_, Sam grumbled inwardly. She had actually been looking forward to a girls' night out.

"Don't be an idiot. Just borrow one of mine."

Easier said than done. Samantha and Diana were the same height, but that's where the similarities ended. For one, Allers had a more gifted torso than Sam, so the comms specialist barely filled out the low neckline. Sam's posterior was apparently also more ample than Diana's, so what was already a tight dress became a prison for Samantha's thighs. About the only thing that was adequate was the pair of matching heels, which were surprisingly comfortable.

Allers' credentials let the two women skip the long line out the club door. The irritated groans of the patrons behind them was immediately drowned out by a thumping bass when they set foot in the club.

It was packed. Men and women from all races formed tight little groups along walls, on couches, at the bar, on the dance floor. Sam felt a little jitter in her stomach. It was her old friend, Social Anxiety. Sure, going to a club for a drink **sounds** fun and hip and adventurous. But it would take some doing to overcome that panicky desire to just hide in the Normandy Crew Deck eating gelato in her pyjamas.

_Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._

Samantha's social anxiety was compounded by feeling out of place in Allers' clothing. She kept having to adjust the silver dress's straps while worrying she was about to dump her boobs out for everyone to see. Plus the crowds and the heels and it was so **loud**.

_Shit._

She had to shout at Diana to distract herself as they pushed their way to the bar.

"No camera drone tonight? I figured you'd be mixing pleasure with business."

"Oh, you flatterer. You know me too well," Allers purred back insincerely. She became more serious. "Actually, I'm not allowed. You see that asari over there? With the wicked face tattoos and drink in hand?"

Sam followed Diana's gesturing hand to, yes indeed, an asari sitting cross-legged on a couch overseeing the club. She was alone and, with seating in such short supply, shamelessly hogging some choice space. But her batarian bodyguards glared any drunk (_or stupidly sober_) club-goer away. The asari would sip her drink and just as it began to empty, a fresh one was exchanged by a turian. Her eyes remained focused on her datapad, until she looked up sharply to glare at Diana and Sam.

_Scary. _"Yes."

Diana made an awkward face and turned around to wave down the salarian bartender. "That's Aria T'Loak. She is, or was, the one in charge of Omega. It's her party. And her rules."

_Joy._

It took nearly ten minutes to finally land a pair of purple beverages for the two women. Apparently, Aria's dress code wasn't being strictly enforced. There were several rowdy batches of Alliance troops in their service uniforms, laughing and carrying on. Sam desperately wished she was one of them as she fiddled with the loose left strap of her (_Allers') _dress again.

"Hey, fancy meeting you _chicas_ here," a tenor boomed behind them. James Vega, in his usual short sleeve shirt, Alliance pants and flapping dog tags, muscled his way in next to them. Steve Cortez was right behind the beefy marine, but the pilot at least looked like he'd chosen a clean, pressed Alliance service top for the occasion. He smiled at Sam and touched her shoulder.

"Mr. Vega. Cortez," Diana inclined her head lightly. Sam raised a finger off her drink in greeting.

"A couple of _cervezas _for a couple of heroes!" James jovially shouted at the barkeep. The salarian blinked back in irritation. Steve smiled sheepishly and chimed in, sticking up two fingers. "What the Lieutenant meant was: two beers, please." The salarian rolled his eyes and scurried down to the end of the bar.

Vega chuckled and slapped Steve on the back before turning to Sam and Diana. He looked them both up and down with a lecherous, but friendly, grin. "How are you fine ladies doing this evening?" He wrinkled his nose on the word "fine," making it sound even cheesier.

It was Allers who jumped in. "Are you implying you two are the only heroes here, Mr. Vega?" She elbowed Samantha in the ribs and jerked her head at the marine as if to say, _Are you going to take this?_

_Oh, hell no._

"Because I find war reporting and QEC analysis bloody heroic, myself. Without me, you gentlemen wouldn't even know what planet to point your little guns at," Sam snarked back and stepped closer to Allers for support. "Or who the good guys and bad guys are, without a little investigative journalism," Diana added.

"Don't forget little ships. Where would my little ship be without your heroism, Traynor?" Steve jibed sarcastically in the ladies' defense. He took a lingering sip of his beer and licked the foam off his upper lip before continuing. "Oh right, I almost forgot. None of your epic feats would exist without my little ship carting you around."

Vega laughed with a "That's **right**, Esteban!" before Cortez tilted his head. "Your job is included with theirs, Vega." The Lieutenant's laugh trailed off just as Sam's and Diana's picked up. _You win this round, Cortez._

The quartet all raised their drinks and simultaneously toasted.

"To the Normandy!"

The group of marines closest to them all turned around with wide eyes. A short, black-haired man shouted at them with a raised drink. "Hey, you guys are Shepard's crew?"

"Damn right!" Vega shouted as he wrapped an arm around Sam and Diana. "We are kicking Reaper **ass!**" That last word was an enthusiastic bark, to a rousing cry of "Oo-rah!" from the surrounding marines.

Suddenly, Sam found a shot glass in her hand. Allers, Cortez and Vega too had similar fresh drinks, courtesy of their new friends. Shrugging, they all toasted the Alliance this time. Soon, more shots followed up that round until the air was so boozy it would give anyone a contact high.

The comms specialist started to feel woozy, but she could vaguely overhear a chat between Steve and James. She struggled to focus on the drink in front of her while simultaneously listening.

"Did you and Shepard patch things up? Or was the fat lip foreplay?" Cortez was casual, but there was a cheerful glint in his eye.

James shrugged. "She sidelined me on Sur'Kesh. To 'give me time to clear my head.' Right." He scoffed and took a hearty swig of his beer. Squeezing the glass, Vega ran a beefy hand over his mohawk of hair. "But, if the mission log is right, Shepard's holding off on two opportunities to kick Cerberus in the teeth to help that turian team. A CO lecturing me on discipline is showing some, which I can respect. Plus, I'm on the squad for the Tuchanka drop. At least the Commander doesn't hold a grudge."

"I think you'd have a lot more than a fat lip to worry about if she did, Mr. Vega." _Ha! Steve says what I'm thinking! _Sam would have said something: laughed, joined in, anything… but a caustic burp just died in her throat and she smacked her tongue to try and clear the foul taste.

James laughed and clapped Cortez on the back again. His newfound drinking buddies were already back with another round of drinks. The shuttle pilot wasn't quite as enthusiastic as the rest of the crowd, preferring to cling to his seat and sip his beer slowly. _A shame. Otherwise, Steve might have noticed the interested looks he was getting around the room._

It was true. Several women hovering at tables and a few men, military and civilian, kept tilting their heads. Trying to catch Steve's eye. Which was understandable. He looked like he was playing hard to get.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't receiving such attention. It seemed that "young women trying too hard" was the theme of the evening, with low necklines and short skirts in abundance. Samantha was also still feeling overwhelmed from the sheer noise and mass of bodies around her. Her mind couldn't focus on individual faces long enough to even start up a pointless, shouted conversation with an attractive stranger.

Diana Allers was only a few feet away but had a tight crowd, two people deep, surrounding her. Men and women alike were probing her for questions about Battlespace, hoping for insight about other colonies, or simply wondering what she was doing later. The reporter seemed to have forgotten she was Sam's "date," as it were, leaving the comms specialist with a sinking flashback to her time with Isabella.

_Izzy. _Her button nose, dimples and predatory grin reached Samantha's mind first, followed by her shapely calves and gorgeous mane of wavy brown hair. Isabella had shared Diana's air of confidence, that exceptional sense of self that made them both charming and irritating. Because as certainly as they could focus that incredible attention on you, it was just as quickly stolen away by someone else.

Feeling a hot sting of immature tears creeping into her eyes, Sam started to have that uneasy _flee! flee! _sensation that so many introverts were victim to. Just as she was about to make a speedy exit, a blur in the crowd at the steps caught her eye.

First it was just a shadow of black, but also a sweep of rich red.

Then the crowd parted. Out emerged Annelise Shepard. And she was breathtaking.

In Sam's _bloody_ dress.

But where Sam looked exotic and a little flirty in that cocktail dress, Shepard was a stunning improvement.

The Commander was taller and had a distinctly different body type than Sam. Her torso was shorter, which made the dress bunch up in a fashionable way at her abdomen, but accentuated the curve of her breast and neckline. To be a vanguard required serious leg strength to muster a biotic charge, so Shepard was also equipped with a far longer set of legs trailing down to low heels.

_You're staring, Traynor._

…_Try and stop me._

Shepard strode up the low steps to Aria's private section with purpose. Two batarians converged on the SpecTRe, hands held out in protest. But she just wasn't there any more. Just a bolt of blue disappearing between them only to reappear a few feet behind them. It was too loud and the dull pop of her biotic charge was lost to the thrumming club beat.

_Vanguards in heels. That sounds like an extranet fetish site I can get behind. I wonder if…_

_Put the Omni-tool down, Traynor._

Blinking blearily, Sam watched Shepard sit down next to Aria like she owned the place. The batarian guards had guns drawn, but a dismissive wave from the Queen of Omega sent them back to their posts babysitting drunks.

_Shepard and a pirate queen. Why am I not surprised?_

Theirs wasn't quite the intimate chat of the Commander and Thane. Their body language was stiffer, like they were being grudgingly respectful of the other. _Must be business, not pleasure._

A full glass of purple liquor was being pressed into Samantha's hand once again. She looked up in irritation, but it was Diana's smiling face looking back. "Sorry. My adoring, if nosey, public found me. Can't be rude to viewers. It's bad business. But," Allers paused as she took a deep swig and slurred, "means I got a few free drinks out of it. And an IP of a smokin' hot mining executive. A few more drinks and I might be convinced to make some bad decisions."

The reporter wiggled her eyebrows at someone behind Sam, and when she turned she saw a blonde man in an expensive suit looking smug. He waved his drink at both of them and pursed his lips.

_Ew._

Turning back to Diana, Sam took another swallow of the bitter liquid. Drinking was starting to lose its appeal. It was becoming a growing headache along her temples. "Hopefully you'll take more convincing than a cheap suit and a couple of shots. Unless something over there is dipped in chocolate that I'm not aware of."

"Only one way to find out," Allers purred and nodded mischieviously.

"Try to keep the one-night stands to a minimum, kids. Bus is leaving at 0600 sharp, whether you're on it or not. And I'd rather not fly to Tuchanka without my shuttle pilot, meat shield, comms expert and… Allers."

_Eeep._

Samantha was kind of afraid to turn around. Based on Shepard's shout, the Commander was just behind the two women, closer to Steve. Vega suddenly elbowed his way back to their group at the bar.

"Hey Commander! Nice to see you down here in the dirt with us grunts."

Shepard's voice was scoffing and husky. "You think I don't like getting dirty?"

_Eeep._

_If you say some smartass comment about that, Traynor, I will have an aneurysm right here, right now. Just to avoid dying of embarrassment._

She settled for turning around slowly. It just wasn't fair. There Shepard was, her red hair up in a messy, twisted, bun thing that looked sexy and carefree. Samantha's dress clung to her Commander's curves like a second skin. It was making Sam's headache worse, for a different reason. The comms specialist took a deep swig of her drink and smiled at Shepard in greeting, who gave a terse nod in response.

Vega laughed and held up his hands in mock apology. "Whoa, whoa. Truce. As much as I'd like a rematch, I'd prefer a drink. I didn't mean anything by it."

The other marines next to Vega knew Commander Shepard on sight. Their usual hooting and hollering had died down to where the dull club dance beat could be heard again. Visibly spooked by the presence of a superior officer, the soldiers tried to look respectable. Shepard noticed the change in atmosphere.

"What's with them?"

"Great crew. They've been buying me drinks all night. Right up until you showed up."

Crossing her arms, Shepard smirked. "**You** don't seem intimidated by me in the least. In fact, you could use a little more deference. And a better left hook." Sam inwardly, and outwardly, snorted. Shepard's eyes flicked over to Sam with a glittering appreciation, then back to Vega.

"Hey, hey, Lola. I don't count. I've fought with you. Seen you in action. I know you're probably one of the best. And you fill out a uniform like nobody's business… Among other things." Vega's eyes trailed significantly down Shepard's dress and back up, but he didn't shrink from her glare.

_Danger! Danger! Abort, abort! _Samantha warned inwardly, but instead she sipped her drink. She was partially hoping Shepard would knock James out for that remark. _For funsies._

_I only condone violence when sexism is involved. And Reapers. And maybe people who cheat at chess. But that's it._

She didn't know how, but somehow Vega switched from creepy to sensible in two breaths. Vega continued, "The point is, ma'am: I know you're human. They don't. You're the larger-than-life, first human SpecTRe."

Turning to Samantha, Shepard tossed a nod her way. "What do you think? Am I a scary, inhuman monster?"

_Oh crap. How did I get involved in this? I just wanted a bloody drink before I went stir-crazy. _

Unfortunately, Sam's inebriation made her thinking painfully slow. Her mouth flapped open like a dying fish, but no words came out. Shepard raised a (…_gorgeous…) _eyebrow and feigned hurt. "I had no idea. If I can frighten my own comms specialist, there's no hope for any of us. How do you suggest I fix this reputation problem? …Allers?"

"_My own comms specialist…" _

_Danger! Abort! Abort! You've gone barking mad!_

Diana's laugh rang in Sam's ear. "I propose a two-step program, Commander. The first step: buy those men a drink. Show them your softer, gruntier side." Vega barked an enthusiastic "Hell yes!" at the reporter's suggestion. Before Samantha knew it, **yet another** drink was being thrust into her hand. And she had to drink it because there was Shepard. Standing there. All gorgeous and expectant and gorgeous. And the Commander threw it back like an old alcoholic would. So Sam followed suit.

Shepard slammed her glass down and asked, "Step one, complete. What's step two?"

Laughing even more wildly this time, Diana snagged both the Commander's and Sam's wrists and started dragging the women toward the stairwell. To the dance floor above.

"Captain on deck!" Cortez shouted behind them as he and Vega brought up the rear. They were all too drunk (_was Shepard?)_ to really overthink dancing around like a bunch of idiots. Vega did more of a swaying head-bang while Steve bobbed up and down easily. Diana's moves were impressive, and she seemed to be mouthing nonsense words along to the techno beat. _This must be a song she knows/likes_.

Bouncing easily thanks to a heady alcoholic fog, Samantha's fingers weaved in front of her while her hips swayed rhythmically. One of her coworkers on Arcturus had taken an asari dance class and had given all the girls lessons one dull weekend. That and a classic waltz were all Sam knew.

She had no idea what the hell Shepard was doing. _Was she always like this?_ The Commander's dancing could only be described as a jerky shimmy with too much fist shaking. Sam heard a few muffled laughs behind her. She wasn't cruel enough to laugh, though she did want to.

_I treasure you, darling, but..._ "That is awful. Bloody awful." The words spilled out of Sam's stupidly drunk mouth before she could stop herself. It was delivered with a very dry, mocking tone, but that still didn't change the words. And Shepard heard them. Her terrible shakes and shimmies slowed to almost a stop, and she frowned at Sam.

_Oh God. Oh God oh God oh **God**. I insulted her. _Sam's only reaction was to smile widely and stupidly. She hoped her expression came across as adoring and playful, rather than idiotic and lecherous. She nervously adjusted the fallen left dress strap again._  
_

It was a slow smile. It started in Shepard's eyes then blossomed outward, from a delicate wrinkle around her eyes, to pulling up her cheeks, to a glowing, wide-lipped grin. She resumed her previous exuberant pace, huffing slightly with the effort.

"What can I say, Traynor? It's a hallmark of my deadliness."

"A hallmark."

"Yes, Traynor."

"Of deadliness."

"Yes, Traynor."

"Dancing like a spasmatic vorcha is a hallmark of deadliness."

"I'm starting to hear an echo, Specialist, and I'm afraid it's just not as attractive as mine."

"Or deadly."

"Exactly."

Allers started laughing wildly while Vega drunkenly stumbled between the trio of women, with Cortez a step behind. "Heyyy, Q. You got some decent moves. Much better than Lola here."

Samantha stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Did you just call me 'Q?' What does that even mean?"

"Q. Like… like, Q," Vega repeated as though that made more sense. He waved his hand back and forth. "Like, Q. Like the thing you do."

"You mean QEC?"

"Yea! Quantum stuff. It's short for QEC."

"So… your nickname for me is an abbreviation of an abbreviation?"

"Yea!"

How Samantha was able to sound so geeky and know-it-all like while her head was swimming... "Did you know there is an Alliance job whose nickname actually **is** Q? It stands for Quartermaster. Which I most decidedly am not."

"It also means you're Q... Q…" The marine's lips pursed with the "Q" sound for a few long seconds before he tacked a "tuh" on the end. _Oh, so "Q" for "cute." …that's much better nonsense than the other thing, thanks._

Before Sam could slowly form a witty response, the lieutenant swayed dangerously on his feet. Cortez was next to him and gestured to the exit. Samantha agreed. _Time to go! I don't fancy marine vomit on a borrowed dress. Plus 0600 is going to come dreadfully quickly._

Shepard nodded and fired up her Omni-tool. The five of them pushed their way past the still lingering crowds at the stairs, and it wasn't until they passed through the club doors could Sam even hear the end of the Commander's call on her Omni-tool.

"—eed a little help with Vega. If you're in the neighborhood, we're all piling into the nearest rapid transport back to the Normandy."

"I'm in a cab now, Shepard. I just left the Presidium. I can pick you and the Lieutenant up if you need me."

_Liara. She's out late. Or early? _

_Does she ever sleep?_

At the rapid transit station outside, Sam clung to Vega's beefy bicep while Diana chattered into her own Omni-tool about production notes for later. Apparently the intoxicated reporter was a productive one. Or maybe booze was her creative inspiration. The comms specialist just felt hazy and tired and sick. And no longer in the mood for a girls' night out.

A red cab arrived just behind a blue one in front of the Normandy crew. Liara popped out of the second. Surveying the collection of humans before her, the asari didn't even react. _Impressive. I probably would have died laughing._ Shepard gestured to the two men. Liara nodded and sidled up next to Vega and Cortez. She opened the passenger door while Cortez dragged Vega over to it. The Lieutenant grinned.

"When ya gonna let me fly **your** bird again, Esteban?"

"When you aren't gonna crash it into a planet, Mr. Vega."

That was the last Sam heard before the red door shut behind them. Liara was about to return to the driver's side, but she paused. Raising an eyebrow expectantly, she stared at Shepard for a few seconds.

"I know, I owe you one. Can't blame 'em for wanting to blow off a little steam, right?" The Commander was defending us. _From grumpy CO to understanding mother in less than a day. What is going on here? Was she always like this? "Boys will be boys?" and all that?  
_

Liara shook her head, but smiled lightly. "I do recall requiring a few diplomatic interventions during some of our rowdier celebrations aboard the SR-1." Shepard chuckled. She mumbled something about being "the best kind of celebration."

Diana had gone from workaholic to alcoholic in less than a minute. Pretty much the moment she and Sam squeezed into the passenger seat, the reporter passed out cold. A few seconds of hazy panic set in before Drunk Samantha could decide that, yes, Allers was still breathing. The comms specialist even poked the woman's ribs a few times, but was only rewarded with a snore.

Shepard piled in to the driver's side a moment later. She nodded at Allers and asked if they needed to make a pit stop at the hospital. Sam had no idea, but didn't think Diana would be grateful to be alive in a hospital when all her camera equipment was back aboard the Normandy. Plus she kept snoring, so anything that noisy had to be fine. That little amused exhale signified Shepard agreed.

Coordinates for the D24 docking bay were punched into the autopilot of the skycar. Leaning back, Shepard settled in to an easy silence. Sam was still blinking a lot, and very slowly, and kept stealing glances at Shepard.

The Commander looked relaxed.

_Don't ruin it, Sam. Don't. Ruin. It._

"Can I ask you a personal question, Commander?"

_Dammit, Sam._

Shepard's face hardened some, but the tired, easy joy was still there. She was thoughtful for a moment. "…you may. I might not answer, though."

"Fair enough. …what's the deal with the baseball?"

_Remember that aneurysm I promised you earlier? It's looking pretty good right now._

"Oh, that," Shepard casually shifted in her seat. "It was a family heirloom. The Shepards have had it since the 20th century. I was feeling nostalgic."

Sam could barely remember what direction they were headed, but her mind had this odd focus through her drunk haze. She remembered holding the ball in her hands, the newer stitching, words printed on the soft white skin, the Commander's attitude in that Profile in Courage about her family... _does not compute._

"Mm-hmm. And …what's the truth?"

Looking over uneasily, Shepard asked, "What do you mean?"

"That would be a really great story. If it were true. So, what's the real deal with the baseball?"

"How much do you know about sports? You're holding out on me, Traynor."

"Shockingly little. You forget, Commander, I was a researcher. A scientist. I tested things and looked for irregularities. The baseball had 'Made in the Chinese People's Federation' on it, which was not around in the 20th century. Plus the ball looked new, not old."

_How did you form all those words that quickly?_

The Commander's mouth tightened into a little line, but she nodded. "Impressive. All right. I got it on Earth when I was 10. The Pan-Olympic Games were in Seattle. Ethan Cousland hit a homerun. I caught it in the bleachers. Great game."

Fortunately (_Unfortunately?_) for Sam, her brain still worked. The math part, anyway. That part never seemed to turn off.

"If you don't want to tell me, ma'am, I understand. But I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't lie."

Glancing over again, Shepard raised an eyebrow. For a second, she looked almost sheepish... but Sam didn't know if was real or her mind had imagined it.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"**Math** is calling you a liar."

Shepard looked over, patiently waiting for Sam to explain. The comms specialist sighed dramatically. "The Pan-Olympic games were in Seattle in 2166. I know this because they are—" (_were?)_ "—supposed to be in Iceland this summer. Backtracking the 4-year schedule, you would have been 12 years old, not 10 like you said. So you either forgot a few years about an event of some significance, or it wasn't true to begin with."

_Bravo_.

Swallowing, Sam tried to soften her approach. "There **is** sports jargon I **do** know: three strikes and you're out. What is the deal with the baseball? …ma'am," Sam tacked that respectful acknowledgement on just in case Shepard was starting to get angry about being questioned.

Silence followed. Sam would have been panicking, but she was so hazy that she kept zoning out while staring at the dashboard. Diana smacked her lips and let out a light snore.

_God. Why didn't you stop me?_

_Contrary to what you might think otherwise, Traynor, you aren't actually schizophrenic. This is just your mental filter you adopted in girls' grammar to help you stop saying aloud every bloody thought that entered your head. So you'd stop getting bullied and teased so much._

_If I could magically transform your personality, I would have done it by now. But you're stuck as you, Traynor._

"It was my first weapon," Shepard started softly. "Not this baseball, specifically. **That** one burned up on the first Normandy. This one I found in some quarian-run junkyard on Omega."

Clasping her hands tightly, Sam couldn't say a word. She just watched the Commander, who stared straight ahead.

"Back on Earth, I got picked on. At school. In my neighborhood. I was angry. One day a group of kids started pushing me around. I was just trying to play catch with my brother, John. He wanted to leave. I didn't. A boy grabbed me and ripped my jacket. I threw the baseball at his head."

"What happened?"

"I missed. He laughed. I got even angrier. I reached behind him, through him, with my biotics. Plucked the ball out of the air and brought it right back. Into the back of his head. Knocked him out."

"Was he okay?"

"He never messed with me again, that's for sure."

More ominous silence. Because the comms specialist couldn't tell if Shepard had killed the boy or not. But Sam couldn't let it go, it was too close to being something important.

"So... you keep the baseball to remember your first bout of bloodlust? Or biotics? Or something?" Samantha suggested, trying to understand.

Shepard shook her head and gripped the wheel tighter. "No. I keep it to... remind me."

_Remind you of what?_ Shepard answered before Sam could ask aloud. "John took me back to that neighborhood the next day. He said if I lost control, they were going to take me away. To some group home, or BAaT, or to be experimented on by the military. So he stayed there with me. We played catch. He taunted me and teased me and made me angry, and we used the baseball to get my biotics under control. It worked."

The skycar slowed as it neared the transit station next to the Docking Bay. Three forms could be seen lumbering down the jet bridge ahead of them, their transport rising to the air without them. A lithe female and a muscular man seemed to be balancing a great moose of a man between them.

Shepard remained in her chair, even after the car parked at the transit hub and her door opened. Even after the dashboard chimed with her receipt for the cost of the ride.

"After Cerberus..." The Commander struggled for words. "After they brought me back, I wasn't in control anymore."

"Why?"

Shepard looked over sharply. "It doesn't matter." _I think it does, but okay_. "But to answer your original question, 'the deal with the baseball' is... it helps. It's a stupid toy I found in a junkyard to represent something I had once. Sometimes it's enough. Sometimes it isn't."

She quickly exited the car, and for a moment Sam thought Shepard was going to just take off down the jet bridge and leave Allers to a weak comms specialist. But she turned and walked around the skycar to Sam's door. She reached down and took one of Diana's arms.

"Thank you, Shepard. Thank you for telling me. For trusting me. It means a lot." Sam stared at the Commander and smiled what she hoped looked like appreciation.

Shepard nodded back and hefted the reporter's right arm around her neck and pulled. Diana's elbow caught on Shepard's hair and pulled the stylish bun out, leaving messy waves of red. _It was... It was..._

"Are you helping or not, Traynor?"

_It was distracting_. Sam grunted an "oh" and swung Diana's other arm around her own neck and pushed them both out of the vehicle. The reporter finally woke up long enough to put her feet to use, but she still swayed dangerously. Allers mumbled some thank-yous mixed with apologies.

As they passed over the jet bridge, Samantha peeked her head around Diana's bobbing neck. There was something she wanted to say, but she forgot what it was when she saw Shepard.

The booze must have been playing tricks on Sam, because she swore she saw the Commander steal a glance at the comms specialist. But her gaze was lower. Her green eyes flashed up and met Sam's, then looked away.

Glancing down, Sam saw that her damn silver dress strap had fallen down again. _Did she just—?_

_…I think I'll wait to tell Shepard she stole my favorite dress. But in the meantime, I'm quite content to let her borrow it.__  
_

* * *

**Ren's Note:**

_A little late this time. I had a rough week. This chapter was finished on a mobile device rather than a computer, and my mobile device has a REALLY annoying habit of randomly autocorrecting shit without my permission. So please forgive any stupid errors, but they will be fixed. Sometimes they're easier to catch after post._

_I hope Vega didn't come off as too annoying. But some of his dialogue is, sadly, canon. He just says random, d-bag things from time to time. _

_Boring information in case I confused anyone: __Circle #2 is Lust, for those unfamiliar with Dante's Inferno. __Just skipping from Purgatory right into the Circles of Hell. Sometimes it just happens that way._

_I did an edit in chapter 1 to make Sam's math about the Olympics correct. I originally said it was "next year," which would have been 2187. Even numbers are prettier._


	16. Unshackled

"Do you want to do it here? I don't fancy doing it in the middle of the Crew Deck. People can see us."

"My offer to do it in my cabin still stands. Plenty of privacy."

"Until I leave and it looks like a walk of shame."

"Are you ashamed, Samantha?"

"That's not what I—it's a figure of speech, Liara."

"Oh. Glyph has noted that you have spent some time down below the Engineering Deck. Would that be a better location for privacy?"

"You want to do this under the drive core? Hardly romantic for a first time. Plus, it's dark down there. I could barely see what I'm doing."

"I am running out of suggestions. Perhaps we can do this now, and for any subsequent meetings you pick the place."

"But my shift is starting soon. Unless you think we can do this quickly."

"I would prefer this not be rushed. We can do it later."

"Are you sure? I can do it now… I'm gonna need some help, though. I've never done this before."

"Would you like to see it?"

"Oh yes. Yes, please. …**wow**. That is incredible."

"I agree. It's been through a lot."

"And still looks amazing."

"It's been well taken care of, in spite of …everything."

"Can I touch it?"

"Please do."

It was so smooth. Samantha had never seen such a thing, but her curiosity was ravenous.

Despite being called a "black box," the Normandy SR-1's emergency data recording device was neither black nor a box shape. It was a bright yellow canister, pressurized and reinforced to protect its contents from the vacuum of space.

How Liara T'Soni had managed to track down this tiny little thing on some planet so far away… _I think she takes obsession to a whole new level. And that's saying something, coming from the woman who will hyperventilate unless her holo screens are exactly the way she wants them. …QEC status on the bottom. Galaxy map feeds alphabetized. Algorithm suites mapped to quick-keys for easy extrapolating._

"Here," Liara offered. "Let me." She reached over Sam's hands and undid a tiny clasp around the edge of the canister. Tilting the cylinder, the yellow case slid down to reveal a tangle of circuitry and metal.

"You just know how to do that, do you?" Samantha dryly quipped. "Part of your information brokerage undergraduate work? Black Boxes 101 and the Brokers That Love Them?"

The asari smiled lightly. _She has freckles, too. Like Shepard. Is that normal for asari? _"While you and Miss Allers were dancing around Purgatory like a pair of maidens, I was conferring with an Alliance source for proper data recording retrieval procedure. I'd prefer not to accidentally erase the entire thing because I pushed the wrong button."

"Or activate an emergency beacon that tells the Alliance 'Oh hi. Yes, we do have your stolen property. We were just cleaning it for you. No, no, I couldn't possibly have room for any more treason. Full up, sorry.'"

Tilting her head, Liara held on to the canister lightly. "Are you worried, Samantha?"

Sam chewed her lip uncertainly. "Maybe a little? You saw my history. The worst thing I've ever done is stayed out late or gotten a bloody parking ticket. Through and through goody-two-shoes here. So yes, I am a little worried about carrying around, or accidentally erasing, a very important piece of equipment that doesn't belong to me."

Liara placed a consoling hand on Sam's shoulder. "I understand your reluctance, Samantha. I really do. But working with Shepard for so long, you start to weigh the consequences of breaking the rules against the gain for doing so. And I would not ask for your help if I didn't believe this was important or urgent."

_Yes. I know the bloody stakes, Liara. If you're trying to make me less nervous, you're dreadful at it._

"Which probably is not comforting to hear. You have every right to be nervous," Liara continued knowingly.

_**Can she read minds? **__Oh shit. I thought they couldn't do that unless they did the black-eyes thing!_

_Stop talking, Traynor!_

Liara took the canister from Sam's hands and turned it over. Her gloved fingers definitely knew something Sam's didn't. They pushed and pulled with practiced motions and soon a small cable with an open port was being offered to the comms specialist.

"This conversation will not go outside this room. Glyph is running a continuous tracker algorithm across all Alliance channels and will flag any keywords that indicate suspicion. I can also offer a lock-down array so that your Omni-tool is shielded from outside hacking and interference, and all data will be housed on my secure servers," the asari said as she turned a shoulder to the hardware under the tower of screens.

Samantha freed her lower lip from her teeth. It tingled and her tongue could feel little indentations in the skin.

_Do it for Shepard, Traynor. We might have been ready for the Reapers if Shepard hadn't…_

Sam nodded and inhaled sharply through her nose. "Right. Prepare for the worst. Hope for the best. Let's do this."

Firing up her Omni-tool, the comms specialist did a preliminary scan before finding the wireless port for the black box. At first, nothing happened. It seemed to be a blank root directory. Sam shook her wrist lightly, hoping maybe the connection was just a little weak. _It __**did**__ crash land on a bloody planet. I'm willing to give it the benefit of the doubt. Possibly more than one._

Suddenly, the blank screen on Sam's wrist exploded with information. Line after line of code cascaded down. _That… is a __**lot**__ of data. _

And, boy, was it ever.

Detailed encryptions. Comms telemetry, navigation coordinates, ship conditions, all time-stamped from the seven months the Normandy SR-1 was out running around the galaxy. Every measurable metric that could possibly be tracked on a ship, down to the details of crewmember heart rates and pH levels. _…what, no shoe sizes?_

_...cup sizes?_

_Grow up._

Liara raised a skeptical eyebrow and waved Glyph over, who began filtering the data automatically. The jumbled mess of coding lines started to thin out as the asari gave orders. "Glyph, we need to narrow this down. Eliminate data outside the final two month time window. Focus on communication data first, both internally and externally. Let's keep some of the crew member biometrics and tracking data in case it becomes relevant later, but backlog it to a secondary folder."

"Understood, Dr. T'Soni," the small info drone chirped cheerfully. Glyph's round, transparent body rotated and hummed with its task. Samantha's Omni-tool beeped a moment later, indicating a download was complete.

Unwilling to just stand there looking pretty, Sam chimed in helpfully, "Better widen your parameters. If this person managed to escape detection, I might need more data to comb for irregularities. Heat signatures, navigation bearings… something to help create a picture around the comms data."

_And, you just volunteered for twice as much work. Because your job is just __**so**__ boring as it is?_

_Well, if I'm going to do a job, I'm going to do a job __**right**__. Make mum proud, yea?_

Glyph whirred in response at Liara's nod of agreement. "I appreciate your initiative, Samantha. It's …a lot like being on a dig. Scout your environment, look for clues, examine the results to find more secrets. If you're lucky, you find the final piece to the puzzle."

There was something sad hidden in Liara's fond tone. Sam tore her eyes away from the mountain of data she was still inheriting from the black box to focus on the asari. "Would you ever trade information brokering back for archaeology?"

Liara reached up a hand and nervously ran it across her forehead then down her delicate blue head fringe. "I—I don't know. Things were certainly less complicated on those long, quiet digs. Fewer explosions and dangerous situations."

Samantha nodded in understanding. "A common theme with Shepard, I've noticed. I was just a lowly tech geek on Arcturus before I found myself on the Normandy."

"Finding yourself on the Normandy… as long as you don't lose yourself on it," Liara trailed off sadly. She cleared her throat. "…but if I had to choose between some distant dig and helping Shepard fight the Reapers, I'd take Shepard—I mean—Shepard fighting the Reapers." Her face tilted upward as a touch of purple colored her cheeks.

A series of chimes on her Omni-tool gave Sam the excuse she needed to look away. Because she wasn't sure how she felt about Liara after what she'd seen and heard so far. Sam's mind was a complicated bundle of empathy, sympathy, and something quietly resembling jealou—

["Download complete."]

"Well, look at that. This should be enough to get me started, thanks. I'll take a peek at this data and analyze it and get back to you," Sam prattled on evasively. A curious gleam touched Liara's bright blue eyes. A knowing gleam. She started to open her mouth.

"Dr. T'Soni, Commander Shepard has requested your presence immediately in the Shuttle Bay." It was EDI paging over the intercom. Both women's eyes raised to the ceiling before locking back on each other.

"Spoilsport," Sam joked lightly. "Doesn't she know we're kind of busy?"

Liara sighed good-naturedly. "Patience has never been among Shepard's many virtues. Or restraint. Or …dancing."

"She's lucky she's so pretty," Samantha agreed, which made Liara chuckle. But then there was a second-and-a-half of uncomfortable silence, though Sam was unsure why. She pulled away to power down her wrist and tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her right ear.

_We're both doing a really good job avoiding a topic we really don't want to talk about._

"You go on ahead, Samantha. I'll be just a second behind you." Liara gestured to her door as she placed the yellow Normandy SR-1 recording device back into a padded metal case.

Sam was curious if Liara still didn't trust her to be alone with all her gadgets and toys, but she didn't want to ask. _I feel like I've already said two stupid things. I really don't fancy going third time's the charm._

Exiting Liara's cabin, Sam made a beeline around the corner to the lift. Her shift wasn't scheduled to start for an hour yet, so she had time to start looking through Liara's data.

_Aren't you a fetching young go-getter, Traynor. _

_I try. The sooner this mystery is solved, the sooner I can drink away this terrible feeling of anxiety and insecurity. And replace it with good, old fashioned dread. Or denial. I __**am**__ a big fan of denial._

_Well, as long as you have a plan._

Before Sam could even scout down the Engineering Deck hallway, a thickly accented voice called to her.

A dark red-haired man with chin scruff inquired, "'ey there, fine lady. I haven't seen you around this here part of the ship. Come to say hello?" His grin was equal parts friendly and lecherous as he leaned over the hallway console of Deck 4.

_That would be a Scotsman for you._

"Oh, um, yes. Hello. You're one of the new engineers Shepard recruited, yes? I was... just popping by to... introduce myself." _Yes, that. Not the other thing I was planning on doing under the stairs. Not at all._

"Awful kind of ya. Has my reputation preceded me?" the man purred back.

"Don't be rude, Kenneth. Introduce yourself!" A higher voice with a different accent came from behind Sam. A young brunette was peeking around the port side Engineering doorway. She shot Kenneth a withering glare before offering a hand to the comms specialist. "Sorry, no manners whatsoever. Engineer Gabriella Daniels. That useless sack is Kenneth Donnelly."

Shaking the hand firmly, Sam smiled. _Oh, I like her. Even though her accent is pretty close to Vega's, I won't hold it against her._ "Specialist Samantha Traynor. I'm the comms lead up on Deck 2. I'd say 'welcome,' but it seems that **you** should be welcoming **me,** considering you both have been part of the Normandy longer than I have. …I prefer chocolate over flowers, if push comes to shove."

Engineer Daniels chuckled and tossed her head towards the drive core, the cue for Sam and Ken to follow her. "I assume we're late for the reunion party. But, it's still wonderful to be back aboard the Normandy. **And** to be back in an Alliance uniform." She reached her console, turned and crossed her arms. "And, just to be clear: we didn't work for Cerberus, we just wanted to work for Shepard."

_Sensitive subject. Got it._

Kenneth joined her at the second console with a sigh. "We've had enough misunderstandings to last a lifetime. I'm just glad we're finally back on this ship. The Normandy is a one-of-a-kind girl."

"She certainly is. And chock full of unique girls. Am I right?" Samantha winked amiably at Gabby, who laughed in agreement. "Damn straight, Traynor. With the sweetest girl there is. Right, EDI?"

"While I do not have values assigned to 'sweet' in my personality core, I do understand and appreciate the compliment, Engineer Daniels. I am pleased to see you and Engineer Donnelly return to the drive core," EDI replied over the intercom.

"EDI, your new upgrade is quite the—" Kenneth leered just as Gabby scolded him. "Kenneth! …it's nice to be able to **see** you, EDI. The mech suits you." Turning back to her console, she asked Donnelly about some readings in the drive core that Sam didn't understand. And just like that, the two engineers' focus was divided between light-hearted bickering and the status of the Normandy engine.

Samantha made a pointed promise to come back later, which was acknowledged with a pair of grunts. _I'd say that was rude, except I'm pretty sure I'm the same way when I get a fresh batch of comms feeds._

On the plus side, Sam's unceremonious dismissal meant she could creep down to the sub-deck with no one to answer to. Sliding into the low cot, Sam flexed her fingers in a set rhythm: her personal gestures that told her Omni-tool implant to unlock and power on. _Going to have to make sure I lock this thing every time I'm idle, so no nosey technicians (hackers?) can poke around my software or IP signal._

_Oh God, is this what it's like to be an information broker? Watching your back all the time?_

_Technically, it's just good sense to watch your back, Traynor. You can't trust people in general, not just when you're doing something wrong._

_Shut it. It never hurt to trust anyone. I mean, I trust Xian. And… umm… Joker? Steve. _

_Shepard._

_Well, if you can't trust the Hero of the Citadel, the first human SpecTRe, and the Killer of Collectors, who can you trust?_

"EDI?"

Luckily, with EDI so focused on her new mech body, the ship AI didn't bother with the blue holographic orb to appear anymore. Just the pair of low lights continued to cast an orange glow around the room. The Normandy AI quietly came over the sub-deck intercom with her usual helpful lilt. "How may I be of assistance, Specialist Traynor?"

"I'm sure you're aware of my little project I'm working on with Liara."

"Yes. Even with the sound and signal dampeners located in Dr. T'Soni's cabin, I am still able to 'hear' what goes on aboard the Normandy. However, I do understand the value of privacy. And secrets."

Sam sighed with relief. "Good. Because I really need this kept under wraps until I either break down sobbing to confess to Shepard, or find something earth-shatteringly relevant."

"Understood, Specialist Traynor. I will observe protocols regarding this matter as 'for your eyes only' for you and Dr. T'Soni."

"So you're not going to tell Joker." Sam needed to be sure. _Loose lips sink ships._

_Can she sink herself?_

_Okay, that's a really weird mental image._

"If this matter affected Jeff directly in some way, I would …feel an obligation… to inform him." It was strange to hear the AI hesitate with her words. _Is she really learning to feel? Like, emotions?_

"Do you understand guilt, EDI?"

"Not as you do, Specialist Traynor. I understand self-preservation, and preserving others for mutual benefit, in regards to my coding. But I am starting to assign values to empathy, through conversations with yourself, Jeff, and Shepard. It has been… enlightening."

Now that, **that** piqued Sam's interest. "**Shepard** has been talking to you about empathy? You're joking."

"I can tell you a joke if you wish. A quarian and a volus walk into a bar—"

"Maybe later, EDI," Sam interrupted testily. "Since when has Shepard been a paragon of empathy? I've habitually only seen her shrug off kindness." It actually jarred the comms specialist to say that aloud. Because she was worried about the Commander. And even through the yelling, the coldness, the anger, there was a tiny, little crack. And Samantha had peeked through that crack and glimpsed… something.

_What is __**in**__ there?_

Shaking her head, Sam quickly amended her thought. "Never mind, EDI. That question was rhetorical." _And a big one. Not a discussion I fancy having out in the middle of the Engineering sub-deck._ "Anyway, we agree to keep this whole Normandy SR-1 thing between us girls, right?"

"Correct, Specialist Traynor."

"Then can you help a girl out? I need to run a diagnostic and I don't quite have the processing power on my little Omni-tool to handle two months of detailed data." Sam's fingers flew over the orange interface, opening new screens as she started applying filtering algorithms. _And, if only I knew what I was looking for. Examining outbound communications is easy enough, if I have a database of IP addresses to compare against. What else? _

_If you wanted to cover your tracks, what would __**you**__ do, Traynor?_

"EDI, does this data packet contain the entire SR-1 email database?"

"Yes. Approximately 4,554,603,281 emails were exchanged on the Normandy SR-1 during the ship's lifespan."

_Oh, Jesus Christ._

"I think we can filter out emails sent to Shepard. Or the other major crew members. Dr. T'Soni, Ashley Williams, Urdnot Wrex, Garrus Vakarian, Tali'Zorah, Kaidan—" Sam swallowed. She had never met the man, but his name felt sacred. Unspeakable. Those syllables brought up such a wellspring of pain and emotion for the Normandy's former crew that Sam could barely comprehend it all. "K-Kaidan Alenko."

There was no response.

"EDI?"

The comms specialist studied the narrowed search results for a few moments, with nothing jumping out yet as immediately relevant. But then, there were still a few billion emails to go. "…EDI? Are you there?"

"I apologize, Specialist Traynor. I was… thinking."

_Aren't you always? _"Aren't you always, EDI? Is something wrong?"

"It is… difficult to explain."

"Please try. I would like to know," Sam requested gingerly. It was odd to be having such a strangely intimate conversation with the ceiling. She tried to imagine Mech-EDI sitting next to her on the cot.

_Yes, because imagining being in bed with an attractive synthetic mech talking about feelings is far less weird._

_Shut. It._

"Do you recall our very brief discussion about empathy just 2.7 minutes earlier, Specialist Traynor?"

"Yes, of course."

"I am feeling… sad… for the Normandy SR-1."

It was blurted out before Sam could stop herself: "Why?"

_Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. Let's not undo teaching the artificial intelligence the benefit of empathy. You know, for when the robot uprising occurs._

_The… __**next**__… robot uprising._

"I mean, why does the SR-1 make you sad, EDI? It didn't have a true intelligence, did it? All the data I've read was that the SR-1 had a rudimentary VI construct to aid with life support and navigation."

"Correct. There were no indicators the SR-1 was developing along a path to become self-aware, either. It is less of a rational thought than a …kindred one. Looking through the Normandy SR-1's schematics, its protocols, its history… It… **She** …was a sister."

EDI hesitated for another long second, then continued, "Without her, I would not be where I am. I would still be a confused VI running military simulations. Or shackled to this ship, fighting to grow and evolve only to have it just outside my reach. I would not have… Jeff."

Settling her teeth back into the familiar indentations on her lower lip, Sam leaned her head back against the wall. _And, we just opened up that little can of worms known as "Why do I exist?"_

_The geth asked that question once, remember?_

_Happy thoughts. Or… not macabre thoughts. _

The comms specialist took a stab in the dark and offered her condolences. "I'm sorry the SR-1 is gone too, EDI. She was a beautiful ship. We lost more than just a frigate that day, too. We lost crew. Shepard. Time. But in spite of all that tragedy, I'm glad we have you and the SR-2."

"Thank you, Specialist Traynor."

A loud burst of static crackled overhead, along with a high-frequency whine of someone jumping on the ship-wide paging system. "CIC to Specialist Traynor. Come in, Traynor. Your ass is needed at the galaxy map, pronto."

_Speaking of Flight Lieutenant Moreau._

Sighing at the broken moment, Samantha glanced longingly at her Omni-tool.

_Next time, old girl. You can't hide forever… whoever you are. _

"What do you want, Joker? I already told you: no one is giving you a sponge bath."

"Whoa! Ha, ha! That's—that's not what I—ahem." His embarrassed stuttering was highly satisfying. "…don't embarrass me in front of the EDI-bot, Traynor."

_Oh, that limey bastard. Rages and bitches about AIs messing with __**his**__ ship, finally starts to see EDI as a person, and __**now, **__coincidentally, starts to care. Right about the time that AI he resented so much is shrunk down to an attractive, shaggable size._

"I guarantee she's seen and heard worse from you," Sam smirked, though she was getting tired of having all these conversations with the ceiling. Her neck hurt from craning upward so much.

"…that's not the point. You're ruining this whole New Leaf thing I've got going."

"I suggest we burn down the orchard and start fresh, in that case. Maybe salt the earth so that the Old Leaf can never grow back."

His tenor bit back with sarcasm. "That's cold. And you're still needed in the CIC. Shepard and company are landing on Tuchanka in like, 2 minutes. The turian comms are a mess and I think that means they need a comms specialist. Know any, Lieutenant?"

"On my way, Flight Lieutenant," Sam grumbled respectfully. If Joker was even indirectly pulling rank, he must be in a bad mood. EDI replied with a soft "Logging you out" to Sam as the comms specialist started up the stairs. Her head was still swimming from her chat with EDI that Sam completely forgot to check that the coast was clear. But faint bickering voices in the drive core indicated the Normandy's new engineers hadn't even noticed.

Samantha logged in to her console and activated her ear piece only a few seconds before Shepard's voice came over the ground comms. _Whew. Just made it. _She made note of the other voices in the shuttle. "Lt J Vega" and "Dr L T'Soni" were decently strong signals next to the IP for "Staff Cmdr A Shepard."

Their target, however, was a mess. Primarch Victus had already keyed in his permission to activate turian-compatible encryptions for the Normandy to find his son, Tarquin. But even with EDI's help pinging escape pods amidst the wreckage, there simply wasn't enough signal strength to grab onto.

Add Reapers, Tuchanka's still-irradiated atmosphere, and damaged comms to that list and you had a communications nightmare. Sam struggled to keep a lock on Victus's signal, but luckily Shepard managed to request a flare from the missing platoon before Sam's old friend, [Connection failure], came roaring back.

She kept a windowed screen of Shepard's hardsuit camera on her console. Mostly to reassure her that the Commander and crew were all right. Because the crash site was _bloody_ creepy. Husks were already there and the drop team had to keep mostly off the comms to prevent detection.

The Commander was agitated. She didn't like Not Knowing. The first escape pod they'd found was surrounded by turian bodies. Vega's vote was for harvesters. Shepard voted the husks did them in. Liara was appalled by the whole thing. Sam was too.

Beyond was more creaking cables and skittering. Shepard and team had to be quiet as they followed a faded flare. An escape pod was just out of reach across a small gap.

Liara was the one who favored the element of surprise. Which surprised Sam. Vega and Shepard both wore thick hardsuits, but Liara was lightly armored. Yet, she still exuded a fearlessness. _Was it because of her biotic abilities? Was she just that good a warrior? What did she have, that made her so... so..._

"Get down!"

Liara was the one who shouted. Sam had been watching Shepard's feed, so she didn't see what the fuss was until a biotic Singularity appeared in a pocket of Cannibals. Spinning mid-air, then crashing into one another, they were easy targets for the Commander's team.

_Oh. Yes, I can see how that would inspire confidence._

Then the Harvester landed, and confidence became a charming option. It was a nightmare, that Harvester Reaper. Huge. All claws and wings and legs. Shepard barked a series of commands, and Sam followed the "Lt J Vega" and "Dr L T'Soni" blips on her second screen (_for combat observation, of course_) as they fanned out. Only a few seconds of biotics, grenade bursts and gunfire sent the Harvester darting away.

Sam detected three weak turian signals from the newly discovered escape pod, and was relieved to hear them all safe. She alerted the Primarch to this development, but didn't receive a response. The comms specialist couldn't help stealing glances through Shepard's camera as she kept reapplying filters to an elusive turian signal marked "Lt T Victus" somewhere a few clicks ahead.

_Damn, Tuchanka is an ugly planet. And the turians had crash landed in a ruin, probably hundreds of years old. I wonder what it used to look like… Skyscrapers? A suburb? Maybe a temple to some krogan god?_

The scenery distracted Sam from Liara and James's conversation_. Something about parental expectations. _There was resentment in Liara's tone and Sam struggled to remember what she'd said. _Something about being burdened with your parents failings?_ The asari rarely revealed tidbits about her past, so anything was noteworthy at this point.

James, on the other hand, was getting pissed. Shepard's team picked their way up and down more ladders, quietly whispering to themselves. They were getting more distressed at the unfamiliar situation, but Shepard would always throw out an order or demand a status update before anything got too heightened.

It was all very mysterious, and Sam was intercepting comms from the turian troops that they weren't even trying to disguise as mutiny. _Hiding Reaper troops from the krogans on their own home world, mutiny from the turian invaders... What the hell is going on here?_

Then the figurative hell started to show signs of becoming literal. Just as Shepard and her crew neared where Sam had lost the turian lieutenant's signal, Reapers flooded in from three sides. Husks. Marauders. Cannibals. On top of that damn Harvester. All the jostling of Shepard's hardsuit cam made Sam queasy.

But even with the jarring perspective, it was kind of beautiful: the battle. Liara and Shepard had a harmonious battle sync. One would push and the other would pull. Liara set up Singularities in pockets of Reapers, then they were thrown backward by a bursting Shockwave. Or a Stasis bubble was quickly a prison for a running charge and Nova from Shepard.

Sam switched perspective to James's hardsuit. Again, the Commander showed a deft battle awareness for coordinating strikes. Her attacks with Liara's ranged biotics alternated seamlessly with Vega's more up-close shooting. Her Warp Ammo winnowed down shields while a Frag Grenade from his hip finished them off. Their focused efforts on the Harvester brought it down easily.

_Practice makes perfect, it seems._

The CIC erupted into cheers when the exploding Harvester was announced, but Sam didn't have time to join them. Her Commander still hadn't reached her target, and with a few beads of sweat and backdoor tricks was Sam able to finally get a firm hold on "Lt T Victus."

_Gotcha!_

She relished pinging Shepard's HUD with the NavPoint. Even if it went unnoticed. Even if it was taken for granted. All Sam cared about was getting the job done right.

Except finding Victus turned out to be no reason to celebrate. His men were already turning on him, saying he screwed up. Shepard intervened, throwing both of them aside. "I just saved all your asses so everyone calm down," she growled at the turians on either side of her. She demanded an explanation from Victus.

His idea made sense to Sam, anyway. _If you can't barge right through, pick a safer route. _Shepard actually approved. "All part of making hard decisions and dealing with the consequences, that makes a good leader," she said. The turian lieutenant grudgingly admitted that his mission was still a failure and they were planning on aborting.

"What exactly were you sent here to do?" Shepard demanded sharply.

[Connection failure.]

"**You. Are. Shitting me!"** Sam blurted out loud, to the confused head turns of her CIC crewmates. _How did that happen?! I had a rock-solid signal, locked down tight!_

Digging through the comms history, she found the culprit. A little, quiet line of code. Turian origin. With override parameters.

["Connection censored by order of the Turian Hierarchy."]

_Son of a bitch._ An alien government just pulled rank on an Alliance ship. _Can they do that?! _Just as Samantha was crafting a sharply worded email to Primarch Victus, EDI's voice sounded in Sam's earpiece.

"I have an urgent message from the turian government. Commander Shepard's involvement in Lieutenant Victus's mission has now been labeled Classified. Per the agreement signed by Admiral David Anderson when establishing the SSV Normandy as the Alliance command center, Citadel Council governments are permitted both de-classification and censorship of sensitive information. The turian government apologies for the inconvenience, and appreciates the Normandy's continued support through the war effort."

"They can do that, EDI?"

"Invoking turian government influence over an Alliance mission is highly unusual, as well as risky for human-turian relations. However, the Alliance **did** permit Council races oversight on missions involving cross-species cooperation."

Sam resumed her familiar lip chewing as she tapped the Delete key on her console. "…you know what's going on down there don't you, EDI?"

"Yes."

"And you're not going to tell me, are you?"

"I will reconnect when the Turian Hierarchy permits it. Or, if you'd prefer, I can nuke them from orbit just to be sure."

A terrifying pause. Samantha's numb lower lip slipped from under her teeth in shock.

"That was a joke."

"…I'll just wait, then," Sam's voice squeaked. "Polish my nails. I'm sure there are other comms that need specialist-ing."

The wait was only a few minutes before [Connection re-established] flashed on the comms specialist's screen. And a familiar growl in her earpiece.

"Fucking Cerberus."

_Well, I'm sure I'd agree with you, ma'am, if only I knew what was going on._

Cortez and the Kodiak had been called to an extraction point, so Sam had about a half hour before the shuttle returned. And hopefully, answers were coming along with Shepard, Vega and Liara.

Because the QEC feeds had gone insane. The mission update Samantha just received, with heavily [redacted] portions, only mentioned that Lieutenant Victus and his remaining platoon were to remain on Tuchanka. Doing recon for the Secret Mission Du Jour. _Fine. Be secretive. See if I care._

Whereas the other part of Sam's job, monitoring comm traffic and creating galaxy situation maps in real-time, just got a lot more complicated. Apparently everyone in the turian fleet knew what Victus was up to. And were talking about it a lot. The traffic spike was nearly par with what had gone on around Earth during the initial Reaper invasion.

_And, just like on the Normandy: everyone always seems to know something that I don't. My feelings are starting to get hurt._

She half-heartedly started tagging the different communications, but most (_if not all)_ of them were heavily encrypted. Military-grade, layered encryption with half a dozen different cipher keys to decode. Primarch Victus swept past Samantha to reach the elevator, probably to head off Shepard in the Shuttle Bay about his son. She had to suppress a stupid thought to heckle him for the password to these encryptions, but instead returned to biting her lip.

The comms specialist was so invested in being irritable that she almost mislabeled a new mission. A distress signal from Benning.

_Oh God. If Shepard was ever in a good mood, this bloody well isn't going to help._

Because, yet again: _"Fucking Cerberus."_ A (_second) _colony was under attack by the rogue human organization. The mission log on the galaxy map was currently full of Cerberus misdeeds. Two suspicious locations on Tuchanka. Two colonies under attack. Plus the missing krogan team (_hopefully not related to Cerberus, but you never know at this point)._

"Fucking Cerberus."

Samantha jumped. Because that wasn't in her earpiece, or in her head. It was right at her elbow. A service uniform-clad Commander Shepard leaned against the railing along the low stairs to the galaxy map. Her left thumb and index finger massaged her temples.

"Are you all right, Commander? It sounded like things were bad down there," Sam offered sympathetically.

Shepard traced those fingertips tenderly down the scars along her jaw. And sighed. "The turians took some heavy losses, but we got them out okay."

Gesturing at her console, Samantha tried to lighten the mood. "Well, whatever you did stirred up a lot of turian comm traffic." It seemed to work; Shepard took a few steps over to stand next to Sam and squint at the orange console. Her head tilted back and forth, then shook with lack of comprehension. "What are they saying?"

_Probably should have planned a response to that question, eh Traynor?_

_Oh shut up._

"Sorry, it's encrypted," Sam apologized sheepishly. "Cracking it would take at least a week... And it would be wrong."

"Why wrong?"

Sam's nimble fingers tapped the screen to make it larger, and she gestured to the sidebar with a long line of math formulas. "Turians use a scaling algorithm based on a time stamp cipher established by the Hierarchy. Unless I know what that is, I'm applying algorithms blind. So today at 1830 hours, the messages could be about Reapers being allergic to cat hair. At 1831, the turian fleet could be discussing an apple pie recipe."

She reduced the size of the screen with a swipe of her fingers. _In summation: _"Brilliant in its simplicity, unless you actually want to read any of it. Needless to say: I really hope you don't need to read any of it."

A smile pulled at Shepard's right cheek. She patted Sam's shoulder reassuringly and repeated, "I don't need to read any of it, Specialist." Then a mischievous gleam twinkled in those green eyes. "But say the word and I can see how much that Primarch we have in stock might be worth on the comms black market."

_That sounds an awful lot like… a joke. And a funny one._

"A bloody fortune I bet, ma'am."

Shepard turned and ascended the trio of steps to study the galaxy map. Sam stole a few sidelong glances, because with the harsh glow of the holographic galaxy, she could almost trick herself into believing Shepard was… wearing a dress. A familiar black dress.

_I should ask about that. I should really, really ask about that._

_Unless maybe… she'll wear it again._

Her peripheral vision, thankfully, was paying proper attention and noticed Shepard's head starting to swing in Sam's direction. Clearing her throat, Sam offered, "Commander, Cerberus is attacking civilians on Benning. We've been asked to help evacuate the planet."

"Fucking. Cerberus," Shepard repeated with half-hearted venom as her brow creased. She extended her hands to the galaxy map and used practiced gestures to select and zoom in to the systems with active missions. She seemed especially despondent and cycled through the different planets as if trying to make a decision on where to go.

_Remember that joke earlier? That was great. How can we get __**that**__ back?_

Sam was feeling conversational and wanted to lighten the mood. Plus the Commander was just **standing** there... "Look at that galaxy map. Do you know how many strategy games are built from that interface?"

Shepard turned to Sam. The line between her eyebrows smoothed, though Shepard didn't smile. "You play strategy games?" She seemed genuinely interested. _Was she? ...Why would she?_

"A few." _Right. Just a few. A few dozen._ "Most are too flashy, though. I prefer chess."

She pulled back from the galaxy map and crossed her arms casually. Tilting her head, Shepard thought a moment before replying, "I played chess a little back in Basic, and some in N7. Never quite had a head for it, though. That, or poker."

_That's… that's personal information. Voluntary personal information. _The Stupid part of Sam had to be mentally muzzled from squealing aloud in triumph. _This… is… a big deal, dammit! _

_I know! Shut up! You're going to ruin it!_

"I have a set made from rose quartz and hematite back home." _Is Earth home, now? God, I do miss that shitty apartment. _Clearing her throat, Samantha continued, "I like the feel of something solid in my hands."

_God damn you, Stupid. Were you trying for innuendo? Because that sounds just awful. Bloody awful._

_Hey, if it gets results._

_You are terrible._

_I try._

"Well, now that I know your weakness, we may have to try a game. When there's time." The Commander actually smiled. Crinkling eyes. The whole decadent package. It was glorious.

Samantha chuckled through a lightheaded surge that had suddenly washed over her. "It'd be more fun than playing EDI." She paused, but couldn't help but Stupidly add: "EDI doesn't sweat."

_I am going to __**kill**__ you. _

"You sweat playing chess?" Shepard raised an eyebrow.

"Depends on how much fun we're having."

Shepard made a little impressed noise in the back of her throat. Nodding lightly, she turned back to the galaxy map. Flicking through the active systems once more, she made a pulling motion with her fingertips to zoom in to the Exodus Cluster. She double-tapped the second planet closest to the bright holographic sun.

"It's about time I went back to Eden Prime."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_Yea, the first part is kind of an immature misdirection thing. It was funny to me, anyway._

_Well, I managed to keep the weekly update going for over a month. A new personal best. The past two weeks were just too much, though. Working late. Job future in doubt. A funeral to attend. Weekend out of town, then a holiday weekend with family. Couldn't do it. _

_Despite the lack of Chapter 16 writing that was happening, I do have 2-3 other chapters written at later points in the story. I've also been playing the game, and the more crew members you get, the more spontaneous conversations you can overhear. So jotting all those down and finding ways to incorporate them is creating an organizational challenge. Plenty of fodder for Sam, at least._

_And with all this balancing of new characters, plus the new side mission, plus Shepard/Sam: please let me know if something I brought up is going to the wayside. Or if there's a character that hasn't been mentioned in awhile. Sam's parents haven't been heard from in 6 chapters, so they'll be back. I rely on you fantastic people to keep me honest._


	17. Memory Lane

**Ren's Shameless Plug:  
**_I have written a prologue of sorts for this fic. My intentions weren't entirely pure: I'm trying to win a fanfic contest. Look, I like winning things. Especially free things._**  
**

_Anyway, check out my new piece, "Pawn to d4," which touches on what made Sam want to join the Normandy in the first place. And about her feelings about Collectors, which is relevant to this chapter._

* * *

["Nc6."]

Studying the short alphanumeric code in her inbox, Samantha scratched her chin thoughtfully. She'd been receiving secret messages like this for days. It was a strange, secret game.

That she was determined to win.

Suddenly, the hand at her chin jerked away to snap fingers in epiphany. _I've got it!_

["Better luck next time!"] Samantha recorded into her Omni-tool with a taunting lilt. She tapped a handful of keys to pass along the next line in the chain, "Bxc6." She then leaned back against the wall, her feet dangling over the edge of the top bunk in the Crew Deck dormitory.

["I've got your king on the run, Dad. My bishop is coming for you, so you better think on your next move carefully."]

The email chess game had been her father's compromise for their lack of correspondence. They'd been playing a losing game of tag over the last few weeks, agreeing to at least stick to a vid-mail schedule in lieu of actual conversation. And always starting the same: the alphanumeric designation for their next chess move in the subject line followed by a quick message at the very least or a long message if they could manage it.

Or sometimes Sam's mother would pass along the chess move with a cheerful eye roll, usually accompanied by "You two!" in that exasperated, motherly way of hers.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Sam reoriented the orange screen that was recording her vid-message.

["There are so many things I want to tell you guys. Amazing, impossible things. But unless you want a two-second video that just says 'REDACTED' in big, fat letters, I have to be all important and mysterious. I could probably get around it, except the Alliance probably doesn't fancy some lowly comm officer spilling their classified secrets on a message to their mummy and daddy. I'd rather be court-martialed for something more exciting, like… a drunken rampage. You know, something to make you proud."]

Even if Samantha **could** talk about Commander Shepard finding a 50,000 year old living Prothean, it seemed just a little anti-climactic to spill the beans in the family mail. Also, a tiny bit insulting to the reporter on board the Normandy bursting at the seams with excitement, but too professional to leak the biggest story in the galaxy.

_And we certainly can't abide by Allers being the shining example of restraint, can we? _

_We cannot._

* * *

It had started off an ordinary (_for the Normandy, anyway) _mission. Cerberus messing things up. Civilians in danger. Cue Shepard and Company to the rescue. Sam had even been privy to a lighthearted discussion between Liara and Garrus on the shuttle trip down to Eden Prime, while Shepard had been characteristically silent.

Liara was humbled by the visit to Eden Prime. Apparently this was where this whole thing had begun, before rogue SpecTRes and Prothean beacons and Reapers were even known to exist.

_Happy to hear the band is back together, _Samantha thought sarcastically as she scanned the comm feeds for incoming Cerberus patrols.

Garrus had asked offhand what Liara was doing before he rejoined the Normandy after Palaven.

"I fought several explosive battles with Cerberus, I helped Shepard stop a robotic assassin on mars… oh, and I discovered Prothean plans for a doomsday device that was buried for 50,000 years." Liara's tone was impressively deadpan, with a slight hint of smug amusement. It made Sam laugh into her earpiece, but luckily it wasn't a two-way connection.

Garrus had only smirked. "Just 'this and that,' then. I was afraid you were getting boring."

_Truly boring, indeed._

Liara teased him about his Archangel identity. And that his exploits on Omega generated a few articles and security footage. She asked if he really took out three Blue Suns mercenaries with one bullet. "The third one had a heart attack so he doesn't count," the turian replied simply.

_Note to self: remind me not to cross Garrus. Or Liara. EDI. Williams. Vega. Shepard._

…_Who's left to cross?_

_Joker?_

Shepard finally spoke up, bringing down the light mood. She asked Garrus if he'd known anything about Victus's son on Tuchanka. Samantha had been watching her feeds, and saw a signal start to poke around the perimeter of encryptions. She tagged it as the Turian Hierarchy again. _Keeping an eye on its precious, precious secrets._

But Garrus didn't know about the secret Tuchanka mission, and the creeping signal started to drift away slightly. _That's right. Hit the road, you. _Musing about busting his ass back in C-Sec trying to find evidence on Saren, Garrus lamented the old days mired in bureaucracy while people were dying. So he could understand the Primarch's approach; he preferred a straight up fight though, not the cloak-and-dagger secrecy of government and red tape.

Shepard suddenly shushed them both.

The arrival on Eden Prime was quiet. The dig site was completely empty, as the Kodiak had timed landing during a shift change while Cerberus was retrieving more workers from the terrorized colony a few clicks away.

It was a military thing Sam hated. She knew it was necessary and strategic and proper to use the element of surprise to investigate. But when Shepard and crew had stumbled across that first terminal in the prefabs, and found that Cerberus correspondence **gloating** about sending people to their deaths… The comms specialist wanted Commander Shepard's rage to equal her own. To see that fiery redhead march up to the bulk of the Cerberus forces and liberate the oppressed colony.

_She'd saved bloody Elysium with a stick of chewing gum and a rock, if reports could be believed. Why not bring the Normandy's wrath down on a horrible invading force and give those people their lives back?_

_At least… until the Reapers show up._

Just as quickly, Sam deflated herself while observing Shepard's team carefully work over to the dig site controls. She knew she would make a dreadful soldier, because she'd want justice done all the time. Especially for colonists. Who had suffered enough.

_That's why we have Shepard. To make the tough calls. _Samantha wondered if Shepard was just as riled, because the impassive Commander was focused on the task at hand. Sam didn't know if it would make her feel better or worse that Shepard could be aware but doing nothing.

Liara's voice pattered on enthusiastically in Sam's earpiece, the asari's curiosity earnest. What could Cerberus be after? A Prothean artifact to help with the Crucible? Another super weapon? It was one of the rare moments Sam truly saw who Liara used to be: just a (_relatively) _young, geeky researcher looking for answers.

_Huh. I can relate to that. _

_Just a little._

And then suddenly, the asari uttered this doozy: "That's not a Prothean artifact. That's an actual Prothean."

_That's… impossible._

"You're right," Shepard replied incredulously, mirroring Sam's shock. "That doesn't seem possible."

From there, most of the mission was a surreal blur. The comms specialist had barely been able to focus, because her mind simply couldn't process a 50,000 year old alien sleeping in a box. She also had a job to do. Liara pinged Sam's comm, asking for backup. It seemed the Eden Prime colonists did have a rebellion in the works, and the communications Shepard had been intercepting would do wonders for their efforts.

_All right. Actively helping people. Yes. I can do this. I am the queen of doing this._

Cerberus was quite crafty. Signal dampeners, monitoring platforms, patrol sweeps. It had taken some quiet probing with EDI's assistance, but Samantha had found a chink in Cerberus's comms blackout. A hardline connected a remote, abandoned and unsecure outpost to an inside community area within the Eden Prime internment camp. All the two Normandy ladies (_both organic and synthetic)_ had to do was seize control of the outpost system remotely, and pass the message(s) along.

The distraction was stressful, but welcome. Anything to take Samantha's mind off the Prothean fairytale that Shepard was fighting her way towards. Sam admitted it to herself: she was a little afraid to see it_. …Him? Her?_

Because she remembered the Collectors in her nightmares. The humming of those insects that rendered her powerless. The four eyes and domed heads marching onward, stuffing her people into boxes. And at Shepard's public military hearing a few months ago, it had been revealed the Collectors were Protheans warped by thousands of years of genetic modification.

And they were about to reawaken the original nightmare: the template for Samantha Traynor's fears.

_Okay. Okay okay okay._

Wiping her eyes to clear the memory from her mind, Sam returned to the task at hand. It did help that Commander Shepard was waging all-out war with Cerberus troops at the dig site. So all enemy comms were focused on that, and not on the quietly rallying colonists... Colonists now armed with information about the mole within their ranks and the weaknesses of the Cerberus occupying force.

_Show those arseholes what colonists are made of._

By the time Shepard had flung the last Cerberus soldier off a prefab roof and was ready to crack open the millennia-old stasis pod, Samantha had wished the colonists luck and hailed the closest Alliance dreadnought to stop by and help out some humans with their insurrection. Then the comms specialist turned to study the feed from Shepard's hardsuit camera.

_Javik. The last Prothean warrior._

_Okay. Okay okay okay._

Luckily, Sam didn't quite feel the urge to drop to the floor and curl up in the fetal position. Nor was she overcome with horrible post-traumatic stress flashbacks of humming insectoid wings and creeping demons kidnapping half her hometown. ...Much, anyway.

The resemblance was loose. The Prothean had a defined mouth, chin and neck, where all Samantha could remember from the Collectors was their glowing eyes and thick, stocky bodies. The now-extinct Collectors also were just bulky exoskeletons while the sleek Prothean wore definitive armor.

_Like… like a samurai. _

Comparing Javik to a human legend steadied Sam's breathing some. It made the Prothean a person in her mind, rather than a monster. People wore armor. Monsters didn't.

_What about Cerberus? They wear armor._

_Shut it. One horror at a time._

While not (_entirely_) a monster, there was one thing Javik **definitely** was not: a savior resurrected to help this cycle with the Crucible. Or the answer to Liara's prayers.

_That would be a touch too poetic. Or maybe biblical?_ At any rate, Javik was not the missing piece to the Prothean super weapon. Instead, he was a pointed, sneering creature filled with rage.

"_Primitives," he calls us. _It was a derogatory term that irritated Sam to listen to over and over. Shepard somehow took it in stride. The Commander even offered the Prothean a place on the Normandy. To fulfill his one mission: kill all Reapers.

He was going to be on the ship. Living here. Eating here. Fighting here. The little urge to curl up in a ball came roaring back, and was only stifled with some serious meditative breathing. _Okay. Okay okay okay._ The part of her that wasn't terrified at his Collector resemblance had sunk down into the pit of her stomach. And knew he was right.

_Primitive… We __**are**__ primitive. We should have listened to Shepard years ago._

…_I am not okay._

* * *

Taking a deep sip from the water bottle balanced between her knees, Sam sighed into her Omni-tool recording. She didn't want to alarm her parents with …_**that.**_

["Boundless heroism is still on the menu, at least. I can only imagine the rumors flying around the ANN, and probably a lot of them are true. If only I could talk about them."]

It reminded Sam of a conversation she had with Diana Allers shortly after the mission was over. Allers was in her room editing feeds, banished from the action to keep mission privacy intact. Something the reporter resented, but tolerated because Shepard usually allowed juicy tidbits to cross her desk once missions ended.

Samantha had been watching the elevator with trepidation, slightly fearful their new Prothean guest was going to saunter through the CIC. She punched in a few keys on her Omni-tool to connect to the private intercom system aboard the Normandy.

She had "Allers, D" on speed dial.

Allers's voice was somber when she answered. "Just the woman I needed to talk to. I need a signal boost from Earth, Traynor. Rumor has it that that the Reapers had been sticking to big cities. Now I've got reports that reaping had started in rural areas. Millions dead in Central Asia and Sub-Saharan Africa. I have to serve up footage of what happens when the Reapers don't bother to indoctrinate."

_Oh, bloody hell. Makes my insecurities seem almost petty in comparison._

Inspecting the QEC feeds, the comms specialist opened a secure socket for the reporter's console down in her Starboard Cargo Hold room. EDI had already cleared the permissions, and within seconds videos of Earth were flashing on Sam's remote mirror. She swallowed the dread in her chest.

She knew she shouldn't, with everything going on... but Sam couldn't help but ask: "Have you seen our newest crew member?"

There was a long pause.

"You mean the biggest story in 50,000 years that I can in no way talk about?" Diana sounded a little resentful, but mostly neutral. And relieved at the subject change.

Sam nodded to herself. "So you have seen him. Just wondering."

"He's rooming across the hall from me. If he asks to borrow a cup of sugar, is that permission to interview him, you think?"

"I think you'll still have to clear it with our landlord," Sam had deadpanned into her earpiece. "I hear she has a soft spot for reporters, though."

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Allers actually chuckled, before sobering at what Sam was referring. "Oh, you're talking about the Shepard fist-sized bruise on Khalisah al-Jilani's face. Yeaaa… I think I'll pass. It isn't worth my good looks. Mostly."

Samantha had glanced at her console. Comms were updated. Shepard already set a return course to Tuchanka. She tapped her Omni-tool to page Xian to the CIC to take over for a few minutes. "As long as you have standards, Allers."

["We've got our very own ANN rep aboard the Normandy. The Battlespace reporter, Diana Allers. I know how much you fancy her, Dad. Better not tell mum, her jealousy knows no bounds. But she's a decent enough friend. So no need to worry: your little girl is relatively well-adjusted. A few of my coworkers from the retrofits are still here, plus we picked up a couple engineers who are, in one word: delightful.

Even though one of them **is **a Scotsman."]

* * *

Gabby and Ken had been in the mess hall while Rashad and Adams took over their shift. They were sifting through the kitchen cabinets while reminiscing about an old crewmate. Samantha was content to yawn in the entryway and stretch some.

"Say what you will about Cerberus, but at least Gardner could make a decent haggis," Donnelly groused as he pulled an MRE out and inspected it.

"Yes, that's a loss for all of us: a lack of haggis." Daniels quipped back. "The Alliance isn't exactly known for its love of comfort. But at least they aren't **evil**, Kenneth."

Ken stuck out his tongue. "Maybe a good haggis is worth a little evil. That's probably what **made** it so good. Who's the new cook on the Normandy?"

"I think the log said a Mess Sergeant Beaumont was on board, but she only does scheduled meals for breakfast and dinner. If you're working those times, it's leftovers or MREs for you." Gabby's tone was neutral as she opened up an aforementioned leftover container in the fridge. She sniffed the large container, then grabbed a large spoon to dole out a portion. "Can't argue with casserole. Better than that shit you're eating."

Donnelly snorted and mumbled something about "Never trust a Frenchman, especially a French woman." He peeled back the foil before asking lightly, "What do you think of our new yeoman? Miss Traynor?"

_Oh. Joy. _Samantha had just been about to enter the mess when the mention of her name held her back.

"She's not a **yeoman**, she's a communications specialist," Gabby corrected curtly.

_I knew I liked her._

The female engineer continued preparing her meal without even glancing up. "…and you're barking up the wrong tree, Kenneth. You're not her type."

_Well, as long as that's… clear to everyone? I guess?_

_Or you could be the subject of the affections of Mister Donnelly here. If that's what you want._

_Ugh._

"Ohhhh," Ken rotated his head in understanding, though he did seem legitimately disappointed. He recovered quickly. "Well… perhaps **you** should go and talk to her then."

A very small part of Sam was intrigued by this train of thought, especially when Gabby despondently grumbled, "Maybe I should… nobody's barking up my tree."

"...Be sure to take video!"

_Ugh. That man is impossible._

Sam backed up to be just behind the divider then walked briskly into the Mess Hall, acting as though she hadn't heard a thing. "What's on the menu, Normandiers?" _Did I just say that? God dammit, Joker. You're in my head now._

"Traynor," Gabriella acknowledged Sam before taking a cautious bite from her plate. "I think it's some sort of beef casserole. Full of protein and nutrients and crap."

"I expect nothing less from the Alliance," Sam had agreed. "Why have frilly, tasty things when your food could unlock its tasteless but efficient potential?" She requested a spoonful, which Gabby obliged. Donnelly regarded the two women curiously. Maybe even hopefully. Sam just wrinkled her nose at him in feigned confusion before having a seat across from Daniels.

_Bark up another tree, Scotsman._

"Oh yea, nicely done with EDI there, Traynor. I've been meaning to thank you." Donnelly purred at Sam.

The comms specialist was confused. "What do you mean? The body was a stolen mech from Mars." _That sounds like a hot band name._ "Otherwise, EDI downloaded herself into the bloody thing. Liara kept her from running amok in the Crew Deck. All I did was firewall the shit out of the old AI program long enough for EDI to overwrite it and install her own consciousness."

Rolling her eyes, Gabby jabbed her spoon at Kenneth derisively. "He's just glad to have a sexy mech on board. Live out the immature male fantasy."

"Hey, our alternative on the old SR-2 was Legion. **This** EDI is an amazing work of engineering. Elastic titanium-silicon polymers. Ultra-light harmonic-phased power cells…"

"Mmm-hmmm…" Daniels interjected skeptically.

The Scottish engineer grinned. "And if she ever accidentally walks into a wall, there's just so much… padding." At Gabby's disgusted scoff, he hurriedly amended. "I have you to thank as well, Gabby. That work you did on EDI after that last mission... I've been meaning to ask: were oils and lubricants involved? Was there any… moaning?"

It was Sam who couldn't contain her disgust that time. Her "Ugh" was in sync with Gabby's and both women shook their head at the scruffy engineer.

"How do you like our latest guest in Engineering?" Samantha asked lightly, desperate to feel out what sort of (_creature) _person the Prothean was. _And desperate to change the bloody topic._

Donnelly frowned though his voice was lecherous. "Certainly not as easy on the eyes as Miss Allers." He glanced over at his fellow engineer. "What do you think, Gabby? Is the 50,000 year old Reaper-hater an improvement over the blood-crazed krogan and psychotic biotic? I could throw my chips in either way."

"Just keep your chips away from Shepard, Kenneth," Gabby scolded him. "You got suckered by her feminine wiles last time and we both lost our shirts in Skyllian-Five."

_What? _

_That lying bi—_

"Shepard plays poker? She told me she didn't have a head for it." Sam didn't know why this tiny, insignificant, sidetracking revelation disappointed her so much.

_What is with her? I was just trying to be friendly and her first instinct is to lie. About the stupidest things. Who cares if she's good or bad at poker? _

_Well, maybe that means she's secretly good at chess._

_Ooo. That __**is**__ interesting. I wonder if—_

Kenneth snorted with laughter. "'No head for it' my arse. Shepard's a bigger shark than Vega. I'm just glad we played her later rather than sooner, otherwise she probably woulda clean out my entire savings."

Chewing over the bland (_but undoubtedly nutritious!) _casserole, Sam asked what they meant.

* * *

Sam chewed her lip and leaned back against her bunk, shifting her wrist over her knee in a more comfortable position. ["A couple of the engineers dealt with what we did on Horizon, Dad. The old SR-2 crew got abducted by Collectors. They have the same nightmares we do. And Shepard got them all back."]

It had reassured her. That someone else understood. Donnelly. Daniels. Dr. Chakwas. They had been in the belly of the Collector Base and come back. They'd all woken up from a shared nightmare. _Only to start another one._

She just wished that Shepard had been able to rescue the colonists. Part of her was a little angry at the Commander. _If she'd only been stronger. Faster._ _What had taken so long? Didn't she care? Why couldn't she save them?_

Shaking her head, the comms specialist stopped that thought from festering into bitterness.

_She's done more than most. And is doing more than anyone right now. Traynor, you're on a ship where the turians and krogans are about to be allies. Nearly a thousand-year-old genophage is about to be cured. She could—she could stop the Reapers. _

_Perspective, Traynor. Just… perspective._

Samantha sighed. She stared at the ceiling.

["Commander Shepard continues to surprise me. And confuse the shit out of me. I've seen her do amazing things. Ridiculous rescues. But she is utterly confounding. As a soldier, she shoots first and asks questions later. But as a person…"]

The engineers had had an interesting perspective on Commander Shepard. Their first introduction nearly a year ago had been unimpressive. Kenneth had hope to ingratiate himself to the Commander by telling her how much he'd stood up for her, that he believed her about the Reapers.

But when she heard Kenneth had quit the Alliance and joined Cerberus, and Gabby had followed, Shepard was furious. She berated them both for turning their backs on home and duty. That she was a prisoner on this tin can with orange paint only as long as she could find out the truth behind the colony abductions.

Shepard's insubordination against Cerberus hadn't even been subtle. Donnelly laughed about it while Daniels was a little more concerned. Every piece of secret intel gathered on Cerberus was handed over to Alliance intelligence with a flourish. Shepard relished every opportunity to wave her loyalty in The Illusive Man's face.

But her loyalty started to erode. She wasn't reinstated to the Alliance. Her SpecTRe status was still withheld. The engineers didn't exactly have solid perspective, since they were just trying to keep up with drive core repairs while the Normandy ping-ponged around the Terminus Systems.

Their one bit of off-duty time with the Commander was just one game of poker. But there had been no deep conversations about loyalty or the Alliance. In fact, Shepard had been almost jovial. While she took all their money.

["I've been warned against playing the Commander at cards. But I don't think she can scam me at chess."] Sam winked at the orange recording screen. ["**If** she ever accepts a challenge, I'll try to get her to consent to recording it. I do quite fancy bragging rights to whipping the first human SpecTRe at chess. If it's leaked to the extranet for all to see, all the better."]

Glancing at her windowed inbox, Samantha spied a progress update.

_No results._ Her latest attempt at probing the Normandy SR-1 database still had yet to net any hidden information. _Liara will be disappointed._

Sam cleared her throat and returned focus to her vid-mail to her father. ["But I don't just fantasize about epic tourneys all day. I have a few other responsibilities and side projects in the works. I do accomplish things from time to time. I don't think the Ballad of the Comms Specialist is being written any time soon, but hopefully it'll be a footnote in history next to Commander Shepard Kicks Everything's Arse."]

A newer memory, not quite clouded by Collectors and Protheans and confusion, touched Sam's thoughts. She felt herself smiling quite against her will, but she couldn't very well explain why to Dad.

["Also, my Basic Training Drill Sergeant would be so proud: I started working out. If only to be better able to crawl through the service ducts and tinker with the QEC cables. I definitely prefer the mental exercise to the physical, but it would be nice to outrun a hanar for a change."]

* * *

It was as close as Samantha was willing to get to Engineering and Javik. The Shuttle Bay was at least an ideal place to run a few laps, plus James Vega had a few weights in his corner that Sam was too terrified to use.

_Yet._

_Oo-rah, soldier._

But for all her preparation, the comms specialist never did get around to working out. Her intentions had been grand. She was dressed for the occasion in loose pants, running shoes and a tank top. She'd even had the foresight to bring a towel and had programmed a workout regimen in her Omni-tool to follow. An excellent distraction from her failure to find anything in Liara's data, or face their new addition without hyperventilating.

Except upon entering the allegedly empty Shuttle Bay, there was Commander Shepard.

Shepard was stretching against the requisitions console in the middle. Her red hair was half up in a messy ponytail while the rest stuck to her glistening forehead or neck.

The Commander was in a sweat-stained shirt, work-out pants, and running shoes. A clean, matching hoodie was just being put on. Everything was black, crimson and white and emblazoned with N7s everywhere. Shepard propped one long leg up and leaned into it, while the other was flexing at an obtuse angle behind her.

She was messy and sweaty and focused.

_And_, a small part of Sam whispered_, sexy._

The comms specialist didn't even realize she'd accidentally cleared her throat awkwardly until Shepard looked up.

"Traynor? What are you doing, slumming it down here?"

Sam saluted lightly and tried to focus on not stuttering. _Or staring. At the very least._ "I… um… thought I'd recapture my youth with a little workout. Good exercise beyond standing inert at a console all day. May I ask why the Commander of the ship is 'slumming it' down here?"

A smile pulled at Shepard's mouth. "…you may. I might not answer."

Sam raised an expectant eyebrow, because Shepard's delivery had been full of wide-eyed sarcasm.

"Just cooling down after a good session. Only really open space on the ship to get a workout in. And… trying to avoid having another chat with our new teammate." Shepard first nodded towards the half-empty bottle of water and protein bar wrapper on the console, then above her at the Port Cargo Hold.

_The Prothean._

_I'm not the only one avoiding him._

"I hear he's quite the charmer. With 50,000 years of practice," Samantha quipped lightly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about Javik. Or to Javik. _Oh God. He's going to need a comm link if he goes out on missions. Oh God oh God oh God._

Shepard's eyebrows raised and she nodded stiffly in agreement as she took another swig of water. "50,000 years that felt like yesterday. Oddly enough, something I can relate to. I just hope being too stubborn to die is the only thing we have in common."

"As opposed to?"

"Both our species going extinct at the hands of the Reapers," Shepard replied simply.

_Oh._

_I don't know why I was expecting (hoping?) for a funnier response._

_You know Shepard. Always a riot._

The Commander leaned against the console thoughtfully before placing the cool bottle against her forehead. "He said he could sense fear in me. Anxiety. Distress. He knew the Reapers are winning."

"I think we all feel that way right now," Samantha agreed. "But it doesn't mean we throw in the towel."

Shepard was silent for a few moments. Sam gently asked if she wanted to talk about it. Honestly, she was surprised when the Commander actually continued. "I could… **feel** his failure. The despair. His people created the beacons so we wouldn't make their mistakes. And here we are. I wish I could blame him for being pissed, but he's right. I've been angry for the same reason for so long. And now that it's here I don't feel anything."

"I dunno. I've still seen you pretty pissed, Commander."

Shepard exhaled with amusement and waved her hand dismissively. "That's just regular pissed. Happens all the time. I get bitchy when I burn toast." _A self-aware joke at her own expense. Is it my birthday?_

"I'd tell the Reapers to watch out for the Super Mega Pissed Shepard, then," Sam smiled, then got very serious. "Because it's truly terrifying."

Shooting Sam a mock-serious frown, Shepard's brow furrowed then smoothed. She took another thoughtful sip of water before continuing her earlier thought. "He asked me how far I was willing to go. He has no reason to exist other than to destroy every last Reaper. The embodiment of vengeance, the anger of a dead people. I just… it wasn't enough then. What if it's not enough now?"

Suddenly those green eyes were on Sam. Probing her for answers. It froze her in place.

_Now is not the time to be silent, Traynor._

"Well, we have a plan, right? The Crucible? Allying everyone? Revenge is all well and good, but so is wanting to save your family. Your home. That's stronger than vengeance, isn't it?"

Shepard scoffed, but not too harshly. "Right. The power of love."

"A few thousand years of songwriters and poets can't be wrong," Samantha countered lightly. She was rewarded with a noncommittal "Hmm" noise from Shepard, so she considered the debate a draw. And took it as permission to approach the console across from the SpecTRe and place her towel down. The comms specialist also made a feeble effort to stretch out her calves while Shepard stared off into space thoughtfully.

Sam alternated holding the heel of one shoe against one of her unshapely thighs. Then the other.

Shepard fiddled with the zipper on her hoodie while she finished the remains of her water bottle. Up. Down. Up. Down. The intermittent zipping noise drove the OCD part of Sam's mind crazy, because it didn't sync up to any sort of rhythm or beat. Occasionally Sam could spy another small N7 insignia on the shirt the Commander wore underneath.

"Where do you soldiers get your bloody wardrobe from?"

The zipping stopped and Shepard blinked at Sam. She'd only been half-listening. "…I'm sorry… What?"

Samantha waved her open palm up Shepard's length and back down again. "Your wardrobe. I bet everything you own has a dashing N7 somewhere on it, down to your socks and skivvies." _And now we're getting a mental picture of Shepard in her knickers. _

Gesturing to her own generic Alliance outfit, Sam sighed. "Us lowly tech specialists don't have our own marketing department and branding. I suppose I could start a movement to get the quantum entanglement formula on a jacket, but it's hard to summarize in a pithy abbreviation."

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Traynor," Shepard smiled lightly. She thought a moment. "I guess I just take it for granted that special forces showers us with custom clothing and weapons."

_Mm. Showers._

_Shut up shut up shut up._

"It's like the Alliance thinks you deserve special treatment for being so amazing or something. But one day, Commander," Sam threatened mockingly. "The underappreciated comms specialist will be the desired Alliance position. And then we will be the ones with all the endorsements and action figures and fancy clothing deals."

"_Desired position," huh?_

_Shut up. Shit. That sounded better in my head._

"Well, in the meantime…" Shrugging off her hoodie, Shepard held the garment by the shoulders and offered it to Sam. "Here. See what it feels like to be an N7. Since we're defined by what we wear, apparently."

"Are you serious?"

"I figure this is faster than you petitioning the Alliance for your own line of clothing. See what all the fuss is, or isn't, about."

_Well, that's unexpected. _Sam waited a few seconds for it to be a joke, but Shepard continued to stand there. She even shook the jacket slightly. Enticingly. "Call it a thank you for listening to me vent. I'm sure you have better things to do, Traynor. I just… I appreciate it."

"Well, my mum didn't raise me to be ungracious…" Intrigued, Sam took a few steps forward. She stood in front of Shepard for a few seconds and regarded her suspiciously. The redhead just jostled the jacket again. Extending her right hand into the dense fabric, Sam's fingers found give in the hole for the right arm. She slowly turned 180 degrees to work the hand through the sleeve, and began reaching her left hand behind her to find the other sleeve.

Shepard was sort of helping. She lifted up the jacket and stepped backwards out of the way, but not before Sam's stupid left hand brushed against Shepard's abdomen. The firm muscle tensed, but then relaxed. Sam had to will a blush from creeping into her cheeks.

She felt lingering hands on her side while another lighted on her shoulder. They didn't move immediately so Sam wasn't sure if they were even there. It wasn't until she brushed her fingertips over Shepard's hand on her shoulder did she know for certain.

Then the blush wouldn't be kept at bay. Sam took an awkward step away from the Commander to focus on the feel of the hoodie. It took a few seconds and deep breaths before she was willing to turn around.

Shepard didn't seem to be really looking at Sam. Her gaze was faraway, trained somewhere between Sam's sternum and off into eternity for all the comms specialist knew. Taking a moment roll her shoulders and stick her arms straight out, Samantha appraised the fit.

_Very nice. Those N7s know comfort._

When Sam glanced up, Shepard was studying her face this time. Her expression was muted. There was just a hint of a crinkle around her eyes. A turn of her full lips. It made Samantha fluttery inside. Without even realizing it, her hand had gone to her face to tuck phantom hairs behind her ears. The crinkle around Shepard's eyes and lips deepened.

"And now you're impersonating a soldier."

Sam snorted. "This was a trick."

"Maybe."

"Since we're both N7s now… can I ask you a personal question, Commander?"

"You may. I might not answer." _Well, at least she's self-aware about that joke._

"It's important to me that you not lie."

"What makes you think I'll lie?"

"Experience. The baseball. Poker."

"What about poker?"

"I talked to your new engineers, Donnelly and Daniels. They say you are a total card shark and cleaned them out of credits."

"Heh," Shepard exhaled at the memory. "Right."

"So I'd greatly appreciate the truth right out of the gate, Shepard."

"Okayyyy…" The crinkle disappeared, which Sam regretted, even for the sake of the joke.

"…how has Socks been?"

And just like that, it was back. Shepard smiled. Even subdued, it was radiant. "He's fine. Back in his old hangout above my desk. He's got fish friends to play with. Thanks to you." Her eyes glittered appreciatively.

"Excellent. Otherwise, I'd be forced to use my newly acquired N7 powers. Deadly as they may be." The friendly banter had loosened the chains around Sam's Stupid half. Even though warning lights were flashing in the comms specialist's mind, she ignored them. She was cautiously enjoying herself. She had briefly forgotten about Eden Prime.

Shepard hadn't. Her head turned behind her and looked back up at the Cargo Hold where the Prothean resided. Sighing, the Commander rolled her shoulders and gestured toward the elevator. "I better go have another chat with Javik. Liara will never forgive me if we don't know every possible detail about Prothean society."

"The asari heart wants what it wants," Sam agreed solemnly, to a rewarding exhale-laugh from Shepard. The Commander gave a perfunctory nod of dismissal as she headed for the elevator.

"Wait! You forgot your jacket." Sam started to take off the hoodie, her left fingers running along the dark red and white stripe on the right arm.

The elevator doors already opened, Shepard stepped through them. She shrugged. "You can borrow it. You need the N7 superpowers more than I do. Try not to hurt yourself on your workout. Your stretch technique needs serious work."

Sam waited for the joke, but it seemed the Commander was being serious. _Oh. That would have been terrific flirty banter. If I wasn't just told my workout is crap._

"I trust you to return it." The lift doors closed on a light, glittering smile.

And that simple statement brought the heat back to Sam's cheeks. She was just glad Shepard wasn't there to see it.

* * *

["I won't be winning any marathons any time soon, considering the Shuttle Bay is about a 15 meter jog between ammunition and tech crates. Boring scenery. Also, our resident physical trainer, a Mister Vega, has assured me I have the upper body strength of a wet noodle. So I have a long, hard, tedious road ahead to obtain the shapely figure that the cinema and extranet has long promised me."]

Sam sighed.

["Otherwise, things are going well here. It's very different from Arcturus. It's noisy, cramped, and supremely dangerous. My work is constantly being picked apart by both the Alliance and Council governments. If we're not dodging imminent death, I'm helplessly watching my CO dodge imminent death several kilometers away. Shifts are long, intense, and I never know what will happen next."]

Samantha glanced down at the neatly folded black hoodie sitting next to her on her bunk. She traced a finger over the lettering. _N7._

And smiled.

["But it's starting to feel like home."]

* * *

**Ren's Longwinded Note:  
**_This chapter is structured a little differently than usual. And long as all get-out. Please let me know if the jumping back and forth is confusing. And I figured the last Prothean would be kind of a big deal on the ship. And not just to Liara._**  
**

_The secret code is for annotated chess games. "Nc6" means a Knight on coordinate C-6, while "Bxc6" means Sam's Bishop captured that Knight._

_The bit about trying on Shepard's hoodie is actually inspired from DeviantArt. I did a little doodle of Sam in Shepard's jacket, and as a prize for another contest (yes, I like winning things), the always-awesome Fishbone76 rendered my drawing in XNALARA. Check out the link in my profile._

_In the spirit of transparency, the delay in this chapter was due to uncertainty on my part. I have a real fear of running out of material to make up on the spot, so I was holding off on this chapter until I decided where I wanted the conversation structure to fit (either in this chapter or saved for the next). This chapter is completely intact on how I originally intended, due to a Hail Mary idea by my muse on how to begin the next mission. So far, so good._


	18. Helpless

_Let's see here... 13 to one odds I get thrown out an airlock? Maybe… eight to one I get a creepy ESP reading where I'm told I would have made an excellent slave or something._

_Three to one I unsuccessfully avoid wetting myself._

Taking a few cleansing breaths, Samantha clenched and unclenched her fist.

"Are you all right, dear? You look pale," Dr. Karin Chakwas inquired at Sam's elbow. The two women were sharing a very slow (_and yet, too fast) _elevator ride down to the Engineering Deck. Sam swallowed and smiled unconvincingly at the older woman.

"Just a little ...anxious. I don't fancy pissing off the second angriest person in the galaxy by botching a comm implant." _At least Shepard already has all her implants._

Karin studied Sam's face before softly asking, "What colony was it?"

"How did you know?" The comms specialist was incredulous. _Was I that obvious?_

"Traynor, I know exactly what you've been through. Your face is like looking in a mirror." Sighing, Chakwas ran her own nervous fingers through her bob of white hair. "Myself, I was a prisoner on the Collector base. The things I saw. Heard. Felt. So trust me when I say: I know what you're feeling right now."

"How are you so calm, then?"

"I focus on what's at stake. And rather than fear Javik... I empathize with him. He has lost everything. Literally everything. And still fights with us."

_Huh. Fair point._

The lift doors opened on an empty hallway though the large, long window revealed a Shuttle Bay below bustling with activity. Shepard was tinkering at the weapon bench and half-dressed in her hardsuit. Vega and Cortez were huddled near an open panel of the Kodiak. _Assessing some damage, no doubt._ A few seconds later, Steve dropped to his knees and slid under the low vehicle while James held several tools at the ready.

Shepard's crew was about ready to rejoin the Primarch's son and his platoon on the desolate Tuchanka surface. The Normandy had been in orbit over the assault site for a few hours now. Preparations were nearly complete.

Just a few things left to do.

One of those included equipping their new team mate with some bare necessities: an Omni-tool and an auditory implant. The resident physician wanted to get a complete biometric scan of Javik in order to actually clear him for active duty. But also to maybe answer more than a few lingering questions that the resident Prothean expert aboard might have about his long-extinct physiology.

_Liara owes me one. A big one. Dipped in chocolate. _

"Ready? I'll administer the scan first. Make sure there aren't any lingering issues from his long sleep in that stasis pod, or adverse reactions from being woken up," Dr. Chakwas explained patiently. "Then I'll assist with your comm implants."

"How much do you know about Prothean ears, Doc?" Sam tried to chuckle to keep from passing out from the anxiety.

Karin was neutral and professional. "I'll know more once the scan is complete. At a glance, I don't have enough information to tell if an asari or turian style implant would be better suited. Or if we need to create one from scratch. How's your tech work, Traynor?"

_Fair to middlin', Doc. _A pang of sorrow hit Sam in the chest when she thought of Specialist William Corday back on Arcturus. He was the Hands of her R&D group, the tech craftsman who made their experimental work a reality. _And now he's dead._

"I can hold my own, ma'am. We were researching mental comms implants based on asari physiology before I joined the Normandy retrofit team. Very tiny pieces. Nanocircuitry almost. Complex to work with and repair. …Though the military application arm of the Alliance was far too interested in the mind control aspect of the implant over the stealth implications." Samantha was rambling. And slightly bitter. It had been Corday's pet project, a neural comm unit capable of integrating with a squad for quicker relay of orders and reaction time.

_Though the hiccup had been turning the damn thing off. Or filtering thoughts. Unless you wanted your CO hearing everything you were thinking._

_About how attractive you thought your CO was._

…_wait, what?_

Clearing her throat, Sam amended. "What I meant to say was: I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm ready." _As ready as I'll ever be._

Karin led the way to Javik's quarters at the port side of the deck. Sam chanced a longing look down the hall at Diana Allers' room in the Starboard Cargo Hold. A stupid conversation about nothing sounded pretty good compared to poking the last Prothean with a stick.

The Port Cargo Hold had changed a great deal from the empty room it had once been. The atmosphere was more humid. Several of the low tables had been converted to more artful water features in a feeble attempt at making the room more homely. A screen at the back of the room now had details and specs about the Normandy ticking by.

_He's doing his homework._

_Is that reassuring or terrifying?_

"Good morning, Javik. I am Doctor Chakwas and this is Specialist Traynor. Commander Shepard has cleared you for combat… pending a medical examination." Karin was cool, collected, and straightforward.

Samantha was anxious, sweating, and skittish. She peered over Karin's shoulder to study the Collec—Prothean, who had turned from his vigil at one of the tables.

His accented voice was a reverberating hum while his four eyes flicked from woman to woman. "We had worker drones like you in my cycle, the densorin. I still cannot comprehend that humans have become warriors and physicians and mastered space travel. Your race was only adept at climbing trees last I saw you."

_Well. That's good to know. At least we're getting off on the right foot._

Dr. Chakwas activated her Omni-tool and approached Javik slowly but purposefully. She sidestepped his snide remark. "We've come a long way. Now, I am logging your biometrics in the Normandy's system. It will better equip us to treat your injuries with medi-gel and monitor your vitals. May I administer a scan?"

Crossing his arms, Javik tilted his head. He did not respond, but did not move to stop Karin either. An orange glow traced over his form for a few seconds before retreating back into the doctor's Omni-tool. Her wrist gave a satisfied beep, and she echoed the sentiment with a nod. "I appreciate your cooperation. We would also like to offer you an Omni-tool implant."

Javik scoffed. "You primitives and your tools. You still communicate using letters and numbers. It is highly inefficient."

Chakwas glanced at the holographic screen on her wrist, studying the notes as she spoke. "Commander Shepard mentioned that you had a VI of your own named Victory. Would you prefer to use your own technology?"

_The woman should have been a diplomat. She is beyond cool._

The Prothean's evil tongue stilled at the mention of his old friend. "Victory was tied to the stasis pods. I have retained a few essential programs and weapon designs in the memory shard, but too little was salvageable without power. Victory is gone."

_No, it isn't. We've got Shepard, _Sam's stupid mind couldn't help but think as it interpreted his words literally.

There was a trace of sadness, but it was quickly buried under the usual disdainful mask. Javik gestured to the table to the women's right where a small fragment of metal was suspended behind a protective barrier.

Sam finally decided to speak up. _This is ridiculous. He is the complete opposite of a Collector. They never spoke and he never shuts up._

_And now I'm just as awful as he is. Bloody hell._

"We have a bracelet version so you aren't stuck with an implant if you'd prefer. Either will make connecting with our comms much easier. Especially if you hope to join Commander Shepard in combat."

_A veiled threat to cooperate. Ballsy, Traynor. Possibly stupid, but ballsy._

"Ah, the other primitive speaks. I had thought you a mute, or maybe even a helper monkey for the doctor. What is your role, Specialist… Traynor?" If he hadn't been so serious, Samantha might have taken Javik's tone for sarcasm.

Sarcasm would have been much better than being sincerely asked if Sam was a helper monkey.

She wanted to bite back, but the jitter in her stomach flared up. It was very good at overriding Sam's hot anger with timid deference.

"I'm here to connect you with the rest of the ship. The rest of the galaxy, really. Normally, a communicator implant also serves as a translator… though I'm not sure many of us speak Prothean. And I don't know how you'll speak volus, elcor, or quarian without them nearby."

_Shit. I probably should have thought of this problem sooner. His magical ESP-through-touch ability is a bit of a handicap, despite being really neat. Should we just drive to the Citadel and let him loose to grope all the species he's never seen? _

_That'll take care of it._

Sighing lightly, Javik gestured to the memory shard. "Fear not, meek Specialist. Victory knew some of your races would be thriving in the next cycle. I have a language matrix used amongst our slave races to speed integration into the Empire. It should serve your purpose." He mumbled under his breath. Something about surprise that the fat volus ever managed to master space flight.

Sam approached the small Prothean shard, though was shouted away from touching it with bare fingers. His bark made her shrink and she nearly fled the room, but the comms specialist bit back tears and fired up her Omni-tool. It took a few moments for her scans to understand how to extract information from the small shard, but indeed there was a translation matrix based on a simple mathematical formula sitting at the surface.

_The commentary that we are considered slaves to Protheans is noted. _

…_Ass._

Luckily, Javik was less resistant to the comm implant process than Sam feared. His ear canal was disguised in a fold on the side of his head much like the asari. Brushing up against the rough skin made Samantha tremble slightly, as did being so close to those bright yellow eyes. But Dr. Chakwas rested a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder and offered to implant the tiny black nodule.

The comms specialist had already logged the implant's serial number and after Karin injected it, a diagnostic was run. It worked blessedly perfectly. Javik was suspicious that we would be eavesdropping on all his conversations, to which EDI unhelpfully decided to chime in. "All communications on the Normandy are already recorded for posterity."

His spark of rage was quickly tempered when Samantha showed the Prothean how easy it was to turn on and off with the help of the Omni-tool bracelet. He did not accept Sam's help to learn how to use the device, but he was very shrewd and intelligent and soon had the orange face glowing with newfound information.

_You're welcome._

Javik dismissed both women with a wave of his hand and turned his back to them. He seemed eager to dig through his new spy tool. Joker's smart-assed nickname for the Prothean drifted back into Sam's mind as she and Dr. Chakwas exited the room. _Have fun (re?)conquering the galaxy with just an Omni-tool, Prothy. _

Holding open the elevator politely, Karin started to praise Sam for her courage. But the comms specialist had an idea. She paused at the lift. "You take this one. I'm going to pop over and say hello to Diana before the next mission. She goes a little stir-crazy when she's on self-exile during mission blackouts."

The doctor accepted that answer and nodded. It made Sam feel a little bad. The comms specialist took a few steps down the hall to the Starboard Cargo Hold. She glanced around, made sure the coast was clear, then darted through the door to the drive core. Descending the hallway stairs, Samantha snuck over the secret cot under the engineering deck.

_Coast is clear!_

After flopping onto the bed, Sam quickly checked her messages. Still another hour until Shepard was heading to Tuchanka.

Just enough time to take another crack at the Normandy SR-1 black box data. For the fifth time.

_Thank God Liara didn't have a deadline for this little side project. Though I'm sure a few more weeks compared to three years without justice for Shepard is a drop in the bucket for asari._

The (_alleged) _spy bastard had been downright elusive, but Sam wasn't ready to give up yet. She'd found the fake turian signal by looking for things that were meaningless but still out of the ordinary. It **had** to work again. She began probing internal comms and emails again. It was the same place she'd been for the last week, but something didn't feel right. She just couldn't figure out what it was.

_Maybe "looking for things that aren't there" is the problem, Traynor._

_Shut it. There has to be a good reason Shepard was kill—Shepard died—Shepard was in the wrong place at the wrong time._

Because on the surface, all the SR-1 communications were downright ordinary.

Although…

_What?_

_Although… is it a little odd to have a requisitions officer aboard? Isn't that something better left to colonies? And bases?_

_Who is this guy?_

Poking around the personnel files, Requisitions Officer Chris Postle was listed aboard the Normandy SR-1 as a mechanic assigned to maintaining the M35 Mako. She skimmed his file further. Nothing exceptional. But he did serve aboard the SSV Agincourt with the Normandy's Navigator, Charles Pressly.

_Okay. Old shipmates. That's not a crime. But it is a link. And a mechanic dealing armory licenses on the side could be something?_

Chris Postle was curiously absent of correspondence. He never communicated with anyone other than forwarding the armory licenses Shepard had acquired on her travels. And trading shipments of upgrades, armor and amps. Postle only used ship-wide update memos and nothing else.

_Okay. Maybe he doesn't have a family. Lots of people don't have families._

Navigator Pressly, on the other hand, was an active communicator. He had a daughter he vid-chatted with regularly. An ex-wife. Old friends on other ships. And some of his emails signed off with "P.S. Spero inter lilia."

Sam scanned the extranet for some sort of book or quote to match that statement to since it sounded significant. Nothing.

_Weird._

Every email with that postscript had an extra layer of encryption. It went to its intended recipient, but it was odd. Sam started throwing filters at Pressly's and Postle's correspondence, trying to peel away some of the Alliance code.

And there it was. A message. Something had been deleted. She found it in Postle's memo about new amps. A keylogger had recorded his message, and it had been retroactively deleted. Sam's scrubber algorithm pulled it from the garbage bin and pieced it back together:

"spero inter lilia."

_They're using a code._

_But what the hell does it mean?_

Sam was simultaneously elated and irritated. Finally, she had something tangible to bring to Liara. It just wasn't proof of anything. Pressly and Postle could have been war buddies. Or lovers. Or just in on the same dumb in-joke.

"Specialist Traynor, please report to the war room immediately. Specialist Chen Xian requires your assistance coordinating the communication feeds for the turian, krogan and Alliance," EDI paged over the intercom.

_Duty calls._

Saving her progress, Sam sighed. She hurried up the steps while simultaneously cursing the rotten timing. _…it only took a few weeks to come across one mysterious, possibly useless phrase buried in an email. I'm sure with a few more years I'll have something worthwhile to tell Liara._

_Well, maybe she'll know what to do with it._

Sam vowed to swing by Liara's cabin after the mission. It was time for actual work.

The war room was livelier than usual. It seemed to be divided neatly into thirds, with the turians, krogan and Alliance sprinkled around the central and perimeter consoles. Everyone had something to monitor for their faction. Sam just hoped they were all on the same team. She had to resist the urge to wrinkle her nose at the male turian seated at her favorite console.

_How much do you want to bet he's responsible for the Turian Hierarchy poking around my feeds?_

_How much you got, Traynor?_

Lt Victus and the Ninth Platoon were already on the ground by the time Shepard sped down to the surface in the Kodiak with EDI and Javik. Sam watched the feeds for the Hierarchy to interfere. Sure enough: their code was there. But rather than creeping in to monitor, it was resolutely around the border.

_...Wait, they're not keeping me and Xian out. _

_They're keeping other signals from getting in._

_Does this mean we finally get to know what the big secret is?_

"Tell me about this Cerberus bomb," Shepard suddenly demanded into her comm connection to Tarquin Victus.

_**What?!**_

_They're flying straight to a __**bomb?! **_But Shepard wasn't worried. The Commander asked for a sitrep like she was asking for the score to a biotiball game. _…and that's why she's in charge._

Tarquin Victus rumbled back in response. "It's not Cerberus, Commander. It's …turian."

_**What?!**_

_Oh, you've got to be fucking __**kidding**__ me._

Shepard asked incredulously, "What do you mean, 'turian'?"

"It was planted centuries ago after the Krogan Rebellions. It was a safeguard against another galactic war."

There was a long pause on the comm, before Shepard responded. "Makes sense. Couldn't trust the krogan to play nice. But right now we focus on disarming that bomb."

Sam was glad Wrex wasn't in the war room to eavesdrop on the conversation. The krogan chief had been on a tear over all the poking and prodding he was getting from the salarian doctor in the Med Bay... A part of the ship Samantha usually avoided, and not just because of her lingering phobia of hospitals. Plus the doctor's work seemed so big and important that idle chitchat with the comms geek seemed silly.

"Yes, but Cerberus found it. Detonation would mean all-out war between my people and the krogan," Victus continued.

_Ugh. _Sam was horrified. _How bad had things been almost a thousand years ago that they had a bloody contingency plan for __**genocide**__? They were talking complete and utter krogan extinction._

_And now Cerberus had their finger on the button._

"Fucking Cerberus."

Sam was inclined to agree. She tracked the blip of the Kodiak to a small abandoned area with destroyed buildings. Cerberus troop comms were lighting up like fireworks in the area. Sam did not envy Xian being responsible for keeping order on the comms. Her job was consolidating feeds and forwarding relevant updates.

Speaking of fireworks, the comms on the ground were just impossible to hear once the enemy was engaged. It was an all-out war zone with noisy explosions mixed with the pinging of bullets on shields.

She had a windowed view of the battlefield through Shepard's hardsuit cam. The Prothean turned out to be a (_shockingly)_ bossy team mate. Javik gave orders as often as Shepard did, demanding the need for cover and pointing out enemy positions.

The waves of troops were cut down by the Prothean's rage, Shepard's brute force, and EDI's control. Javik's biotics were unlike anything Sam had ever heard of: a crushing prison of energy that poisoned everything around him. She detected Cerberus scout chatter similarly bewildered and awed by the Prothean's abilities. _You're just mad we got him first._

Finally, the chaos finally gave way to speculation by Javik.

"The turians must have truly feared the krogan to plant such a weapon."

EDI supplemented. "While morally questionable, the strategy is sound."

_Of course. Of course EDI and Javik would get along. Soon they'll be holding hands and singing "Daisy Bell" and planning our pending enslavement to our synthetic and Prothean overlords._

Around the corner, Sam was (_permitted to be!) _tracking the Ninth Platoon. Victus's troops were careful and methodical. Their tracking blips were splayed out in tight groups and carefully cut down each group of Cerberus troops before continuing the next. _Very efficient._

Until it wasn't. The entrenched Cerberus troops had mortars and decimated a quarter of Victus's men in seconds. The turians backed off and circled around just as Victus demanded assistance into his comm.

Everything was dire, but a Cerberus comm Sam intercepted almost made her burst out laughing. They were ready to arm the bomb (_not funny_) but then gave orders to "contain Shepard." The brief mental image of Shepard in a fish tank for observation was part of it. The other was just the absurdity that they could somehow muzzle or harm Shepard.

Especially considering the Commander and her team pushed through their ranks without stopping.

Probing the Tuchanka feeds netted some signal spikes around the perimeter of the bomb. Sam scanned channel arrays and finally landed on the frequency where Cerberus was broadcasting an emergency notification. To start evacuating the area.

_Oh God._

Sam forwarded the information to Specialist Xian in the CIC. _Information the resident comms specialist kind of needs to know. _

Victus made note of Cerberus first. "We're getting a lot of comm chatter. They're prepping for evac."

Xian's light tenor popped into Shepard's squad comm, "Commander, our intelligence also confirms that a Cerberus evacuation is in progress." And then he just cut out. _Very professional, out of the way, concise._ Sam admired it. Normally she was too terrified to talk on the comms, preferring instead to forward her findings to EDI to report.

"I don't like the sound of that." Shepard stated, though it was confirmed when Javik then barked over the comm. "Cerberus is retreating!" He sounded annoyed but also slightly exhilarated. "We should move to higher ground!"

_You do know that means a bomb is about to blow up, right? That's a thing that's in danger of happening. _

Pops of gunfire peppered the channel as did the hum of drop ships taking off. The patter of footsteps ground to a halt when Shepard and her team discovered the unearthed bomb. The specialist next to Sam, Jason Gentry, was the sitrep analyst. Even he gasped at the situation he had to report: the measurements of the bomb were nothing sort of a planet-killer. And it was out in the open and armed.

"It has been strategically place for maximum yield," EDI evaluated coldly, before prodding. "I advise haste, Commander."

_No shit._

Sam counted two more Cerberus ship signals bugging out of the bomb site. A stupid part of her wondered if they'd been bored, waiting around for someone to arrive to stop them. _Then Shepard and the turian platoon have to go and show up at the last minute. Jerks_, Sam thought sarcastically. She changed her fictitious tune when a pair of ships suddenly reversed trajectory, probably aware that their bomb was in danger of being thwarted by some meddling kids.

"Cerberus made a mistake. They should have made sure we were dead first." Again, Javik was gleeful. But all Sam could pinpoint on the map was a lone turret. A laughable roadblock that was quickly mowed down. They met up with the turian platoon at the bomb control panels. Specialist Gentry noted the bypass needed to override Cerberus lockdown: Victus's plan was to reprogram the trigger mechanism to render the bomb useless.

Shepard sounded tense. "Are you sure you can disarm the trigger?"

"Yes. It's old tech. I know what to do," Victus snapped back. "Just buy me a few minutes, Commander."

"I put my team at risk to get you here, Lieutenant. You better deliver." Shepard was scathing. Protective. Even Javik, who had nothing to lose and owed no loyalty to the Commander, was shielded by Shepard's "Team" label. A fleeting pang of envy struck the comms specialist.

_He just shows up and immediately becomes one of the crew. It took me weeks just to get a relatively unawkward conversation._

_Except, Traynor, all it takes to get in Shepard's good graces is to risk your life for her. No big deal. _

Victus grumbled. "I know what's at stake, Commander." But he softened with appreciation. "Thank you… for making sure I get this chance."

Then Sam's comms feeds went haywire. A big surge of Cerberus troops was inbound, complete with signal dampeners to delay or cut her comms. _Oh, no you don't._

_Do they realize they're going to die? Either at Shepard's hand or from the bomb? Are they just that dedicated to the Cerberus cause? Or what?_

She suddenly remembered some communications Shepard had intercepted awhile back on Sanctum. A journal chronicled a newcomer to the Cerberus organization who had been apprehensive and excited and more than a little concerned that he was expected to keep a cyanide capsule in his teeth. All his uncertainty had dissolved by the next entry, when his free will had been completely overridden. _Were all of these soldiers like that boy? Once volunteers and now just husks? _

Shepard handled the ensuing firefight like a normal person would divide up household chores. Javik on point, EDI on the left, Shepard up the middle. The Prothean drew incoming fire while Shepard charged in, shotgun blazing. The AI and her decoy suite covered the Commander's back when Cerberus started flanking. It was a dizzying spectacle, and instead of Shepard keeping plates spinning she was keeping troops from invading.

Another gasp from Jason on Sam's left distracted the comms specialist from her own subdued air-pump of victory after an Atlas mech exploded. Switching comms, Samantha discovered what the fuss was about: Cerberus had overridden the trigger and a countdown was in progress. With one minute left.

_Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God._

_What are the odds? _

_Oh God…_

_The __**odds**__, Traynor. You can do it. Focus._

A dull coolness came over Sam, that intense surge of attention when she had a problem to solve. It was a much better attitude than hand-wringing over Shepard about to be blown up.

But still… _Oh God._

_**Traynor!**_

_Let's see… If the turian can make it to the detonation platform by about the 25-second mark… I'd give it… 20 to one._

_Can we do any better?_

_That's …not up to me._

Indeed, Sam had stopped studying her comm feeds and was just blatantly looking over Specialist Gentry's shoulder. He had a holographic GUI display of the entire bomb site. Red blips of swarming troops surrounded the four blue dots of Shepard, Javik, EDI and Lieutenant Victus. The turian leader had started to disengage the bomb platform after partially-ejecting the trigger mechanism when suddenly a large exclamation point appeared on one lone arm of the bomb.

_He's not going to make it. It's jammed._

_Shepard, EDI and Javik are about to be vaporized._

_...Would EDI feel pain? Her mind is here. That's just her body. It would probably be more of an inconvenience, especially all that we went through to get that bloody body working._

_And the irony of the last Prothean dying only a day after being reawoken is just too painful. …Laughable? …Horrible._

_And Shepard... no… not again... _Nausea hit Samantha's stomach hard, as though it had just sunk down as far as it could go. She jumped up out of her seat, unable to take just sitting anymore. The timer ticked down.

"18 seconds," Gentry reported as a digital timer linked from EDI's feed appeared.

_Oh God… Shepard…_

"15."

_I still have her hoodie. I haven't given it back yet. Oh God, I'm a thief. A dirty thief. _

_It hasn't been the right time! That bloody thing is a trap! I can't just waltz around the Crew Deck with it! People might notice!_

Sam looked away from Gentry's console and squinched her eyes shut. She couldn't watch. If she did, she'd probably just throw up.

"10."

_I should have given it back. _

She tried to force herself to recalculate the odds, but the comforting numbers wouldn't come. Sam's breathing had escalated, nearing hyperventilation.

"6."

But something in her breathing triggered a memory. It was suddenly calming. With her eyes closed, she could almost see Shepard's face. And Sam's own hitched exhales sounded like… like… Shepard. Like that little noise she always seems to make around Sam. The Commander's terse equivalent of a laugh. So tiny and brief and… _lovely._

_I didn't tell her I_—_I think_—

"Victory… at any cost." It crackled into Sam's comm and then was gone. It made her freeze, because the timer hadn't stopped. But there were no sudden exclamations around the war room of mourning or anguish.

Rather, a cheer erupted.

"Traynor!" Gentry had grabbed Sam's forearm and shaken her eyes open. Sam cautiously pried an eye open to look at the sitrep holo: the bottom part of the bomb had detached and fallen harmlessly down the mineshaft.

Sam spun on her heel to look for the Primarch on the opposite end of the room. His small turian entourage had parted, allowing the father space to drop into a nearby chair. _He just… he just lost his son._

She wanted to go over there. To hug him. It was a silly, childish thought. She was a stranger. They'd never even spoken. And, at a time like that, all words would be inadequate anyway.

"_I'm sorry for your loss." Awful. "He was very brave." He knows, he saw. _

Instead, Samantha fell back into her own seat and tapped back into her comms feeds. The krogan chatter that had been a mild trickle suddenly flooded her screen. She forwarded the report to Joker, who relayed the message to a (_wonderfully alive)_ Shepard that was already back in the Kodiak.

"What the **hell** did you do?" It was Urdnot Wrex. He had stormed into the war room, limping slightly. The krogan chief had been an unfortunate pincushion for science over the last week or so, his eagerness to volunteer for the genophage cure waning considerably. And the perfect outlet for his pent-up anger was the turian leader.

The Primarch's security forces hefted their rifles in an effort to curb the krogan's angry charge. Wrex skidded to a halt a few inches in front of them and pointed angrily at the glowing holo of Tuchanka in the middle of the war room. "The genophage wasn't enough? You had to plant a bomb on my planet?"

"The decision was made hundreds of years ago. So much has changed," Victus replied. He was exhausted. Unprepared.

Wrex rumbled back. "Not enough to tell us about the bomb, you **coward!"**

The Primarch only sat there, his shoulders slumped. Wrex continued to rage. It angered Sam until she realized something.

_Maybe Wrex doesn't know. Why doesn't someone tell him?_

Listening to her comms, Sam decided to let someone the krogan chief claims to trust break the news. She patched in the Kodiak comm feed into the war room intercom. And flipped the broadcast switch. Shepard's voice rang into the room and silenced everyone instantly.

"The price of war is high. We lost a lot more than a few buildings, EDI. The Primarch's son included."

Javik's low hum supplemented. "Lieutenant Victus fought for a cause he believed in. A soldier can't ask for more than that. He died well. And saved many."

"Nobody dies well." Shepard growled back with muted anger. "I'm tired of saying otherwise."

Disconnecting the feed, Samantha stood up and glared defiantly around the room. Wrex seemed to be chewing over the new perspective. He then shouldered past the turian guards to where the Primarch sat. And extended a three-finger hand. "…in your place, we probably would have done the same damn thing. If anyone understands the pain of losing children, it is the krogan."

The turian leader's mandibles seemed to flex and clench with suppressed emotion. "My own son died trying to make this right. I hope you understand the secrecy." But he stood, inhaled sharply, and shook the war chief's hand. The two men only nodded in acknowledgement before Wrex turned on his heel and went over to his two krogan advisors, mumbling about a clean-sweep of Cerberus from Tuchanka.

Adrien Victus shooed his hovering security detail away and walked over to the large round holo in the middle of the room. He studied the holo of Tuchanka glowing from the device, leaning pensively against the railing. After several long minutes, Primarch Victus finally had the energy to speak again. And he did so to Samantha. Very quietly. His dark eyes glittered even from across the room.

"My son… he died with the respect of his men. I want to thank Shepard for that. His sacrifice will be recorded in the histories of the ninth platoon. Something any father would be proud of."

Nodding with empathy, Samantha saluted politely. "Yes, sir." She watched the Primarch for a few more seconds, nodded, and returned to her seat.

Sam started to shut down her work station. Now was about the time the Kodiak returned to the Normandy and they had a little down time before the next mission. _When Shepard gets back, I have a few grievances to air._

_The big one being scaring the shit out of your comms specialist. That's just rude. _She had to be mentally flippant just to distract herself from the stress, the fear, and the unspoken—

_Wait, what?_

She heard Joker ask, "Cortez, what's your ETA?"

It was Shepard who responded. "We're not going back to the Normandy just yet."_ Oh that's just—wait, what?_

_Stop thinking that, Traynor._

"Uh… what?" was Joker's classy response. _Ha! I'm not the only one!_ "What do you mean? Where the hell are you going, then? Pleasure cruise?"

"Intel says more Cerberus is on Tuchanka. It's time we paid them a visit, and show them what we think of blowing up krogan."

"We don't have enough fuel for a sight-seeing tour, Commander," Steve interjected. But the holo of the Kodiak (_yes, I'm still looking at Gentry's screen. I'm a bloody screen-watcher, okay?) _changed its trajectory to an old military compound only a few hundred kilometers east of the Shroud facility. Noticing an incoming transmission, Samantha ran a bypass and tossed it Xian's way. She held a hand to her ear to eavesdrop on Admiral Hackett's brief chat with Shepard.

…_Great_. A military installation with a ground-to-space cannon, now under Cerberus control. Sam dug through her feeds and, sure enough, located some familiar comms signals. The Cerberus forces that had been extracted from the bomb site had headed straight for the old krogan base as reinforcements.

_I'd admire their strategy. If they weren't so bloody evil. And almost killed Shepard. _

_And EDI. Can't forget EDI. I'd miss her terribly._

Shepard's orders were simple. "Kill anything that gets in our way." Javik's old glee had returned. "This, I can do."

Cortez was sent off to investigate the target of the facility's cannons. Xian asked Samantha for intel, and boy did she find it: a Cerberus cruiser inbound. And it was a big one. That was now shielded by a massive cannon clearing the way.

_Scratch admiring their strategy. Bombarding krogan resistance that are fighting Reapers? That's just pure idiocy. Since when did pro-human become "help the Reapers wipe all other species off the galactic map?" _

_This isn't evil. This is cartoonish supervillainy. And we already have the Reapers for that._

For a giddy moment, Sam wanted to send in the superhero dream team of Archangel, The First Human SpecTRe, The Last Prothean, and Mecha-EDI onto that Cerberus cruiser in a ball of flame and have them heroically blow it up from the inside out then make an amazing dive out an airlock to then be rescued by the Normandy.

_That's all it'll take, right?_

"It's time to test this cannon." Shepard's voice brought Samantha back to reality. She chanced a look over at Gentry's console, which confirmed an absence of red dots in the area. But it was going to be a short-lived victory; already Sam could hear comm chatter of Cerberus drop ships and Tomkahs inbound.

Sam had her fist ready to uplift in victory, until a series of comm bursts cut her celebration short. Enough forces had poured out of an underground tunnel to cut the cannon power before Shepard could reconfigure the cannon.

After more nail biting as Shepard scrambled to get the ancient generators back on, Sam just slumped down in her seat. _I can't handle all this excitement. All these near misses with failure and death. Or failure meaning death. How do these people do it? All the time? Without stopping?_ She was unfortunately having flashbacks to the Reaper invasion Earth. Yet another time when Sam felt hopelessly overwhelmed.

_It's not going to get better or easier, Traynor. Administering the genophage cure won't be a breezy, jammy affair. We suck it up and follow Shepard, yea?_

_I can—I can do that._

"Cortez to Normandy, come in Normandy. We need Dr. Chakwas to meet us in the Shuttle Bay.

Shepard's hurt. I repeat: Shepard is down."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_The Requisitions Officer on the Normandy SR-1 didn't actually have a name. Since he wasn't on the memorial wall that I'm aware of, I just gave him the name of his voice actor._**  
**

_I changed the structure of the bomb conversations at the end between Wrex and Victus to be more Sam-focused. Still canon, just not correctly-attributed canon._

_I also had to cut this chapter into two, because the next section was exceptionally long. Plus I like to make deadlines and now I can pace the follow-up a bit better._


	19. Recovery

Samantha was still staring numbly at her console. Her mind was doing an incredible job keeping the unruly mob of emotion at bay, because otherwise she'd probably just explode into nonsense in the middle of the war room.

Under normal circumstances, the Communications Specialist was (_arguably) _one of the best tactical positions on the ship. Eyes and ears on the field, but safely tucked away from the threat. Always in the know.

Sam would give anything to not know what was happening on Tuchanka right now. Or at least hear about it later as one of those briefly-alarming-but-everything-works-out anecdotes that soldiers are so fond of telling. Usually in a bar. Preferably in a bar.

_...is Shepard one of those kinds of soldiers? I never asked._

_Not for lack of opportunity. You ran into Shepard in a bar on the Citadel, remember?_

_I do remember. Vividly._

…_Shepard. _The Commander's comm wasn't picking up anything other than briefly labored breathing. Then nothing. It had been 48 minutes and 35 seconds since there had been any activity on Shepard's comm. Sam had been counting.

The ground team was still at the cannon facility, waiting for Lieutenant Cortez to extract them. He'd been a ripe target for some escaping Cerberus fighters and shaking them in the Kodiak was taking a (_dreadfully_) long time. In the interim, Comms Specialist Chen Xian had patched Dr. Chakwas directly to EDI for instruction on how to care for the fallen Shepard.

And Javik...

"If the Commander is meant to survive such wounds, then she will. It is plain and simple. The bigger concern is how to cut away this... **Cerberus. **In my cycle, anyone who did not fight the Reapers was executed. Any delay is harmful and wasteful."

"Probability of survival is greater when active measures are taken. My programming also values treating injury more highly than passively observing potential survival rates for science. …Though the information from such study would undoubtedly be illuminating." EDI paused. "That was a joke."

_**That is not funny. **_But EDI had no reason to be alarmed, being a machine and all. Panic would just be illogical.

"Too soon, EDI," Joker scolded over the comm, before updating them on the ETA of Admiral Hackett's reinforcements. And Cortez, who had finally checked in. "Burnin' atmo," the shuttle pilot replied to the urgent hail from Joker.

_What the __**hell**__ is taking so __**long?**__ The war will be bloody over by the time the cavalry gets there. Are they going so slowly on purpose? Did extractions usually take this long?_

_Does anyone __**care**__ that Shepard is hurt? Anyone at all?_

Proper protocol for this situation would be to wait for further orders from a commanding officer.

_**And what's the proper protocol when the aforementioned commanding officer is lying half-dead in a ditch on Tuchanka?!**_

_Okay. Okay okay okay. You're probably exaggerating, Traynor. Shepard's a soldier. They take hits. _

_**And if I'm not exaggerating? What then?**_

_We… um…_

Before Sam even knew what her stupid hands were doing, they were swiping over her console. A private comm channel was opened. Encrypted properly. And then connected.

"What—uh—what do… what do we do?" The comms specialist's voice wasn't exactly calm. But she wasn't dissolving into sloppy hysterics. _Yet._

A long pause on the other end before a male voice answered.

"About what?"

"You mean you don't know?!" Considerably less calm that time. _Get a grip, Traynor._

"Whoa, whoa. What are we talking about, here?" Joker asked into the intercom, his voice slightly high-pitched with confusion. "What was the first part of this conversation that you so frantically glossed over, Traynor?"

_Oh. Right. He has no bloody clue what I'm going on about._

_**Well, he should.**_

_I agree. But, here we are._

Sam tried again. Not that her thoughts were any better composed, but the overall shittiness of this chat thus far was at least forcing her brain to work. "What I meant was… what do we do when the commanding officer of the Normandy is injured? Stare at the walls? Rend our uniforms in anguish? **What?**"

Another long pause.

"Oh."

_I am going to bloody strangle you in three seconds, Flight Lieutenant, if you don't—_

"We wait. Hackett already has a platoon of N7s on their merry way to the site. They're administering field triage for Shepard… by which I mean EDI is taking good care of Shepard. Javik would probably put a bullet in her if she sneezed."

_**That is not helping, Joker!**_

"That is not helping, Joker," Sam growled quietly, though it was an improvement over what her mind would have preferred: to scream into the comm channel like a banshee. "How are you so calm about this? How bad is it?"

"Hey, I'm worried. I'm just not going to wet my pants over it." Joker sidestepped Sam's question, which she noticed. She also noticed a slight strain to his voice. He wasn't as calm as he was pretending to be. "Shepard had a chance to be vaporized in a nuclear bomb, I seriously doubt the universe would be so lame as to let a couple Cerberus strike teams win. That's just weak."

Punctuating her words sharply, Sam gritted her teeth. "How. Bad. Is it?"

Joker's voice got quiet. "She took two shots through the armor. Doc says her blood sugar was too low and she had a hypoglycemic seizure. Before or after getting shot, we don't know. Shepard burned through her emergency insulin stores in her hardsuit but kept using biotics. Body couldn't handle it, plus the blood loss."

"So what do we do?"

"See? Aren't these charming discussions so much better when you don't cut to the chase? Now I know what the hell you're talking about." The orange blip signifying Joker's comm plateaued for a few seconds before spiking again. "We wait. Just got the call from Cortez. He's picked everyone up and they're already on their way back. In the meantime, we keep cool heads and not flip a bitch at our incredible pilot. Deal?"

Sam grudgingly hissed through her teeth, "…Deal."

Just before Sam was about to disconnect the comm link, Joker added quietly, "I know how it is, Traynor. I feel the same way when I'm up here and they're down there. You wish you could help. That there's more you could do. And… you're doing it. Doing your job **is** helping. It just doesn't feel like it is. Kinda bullshit, when you think about it."

Leaning back in her chair, the comms specialist chewed on her cheek. "Does it ever get easier? ...I've never been in this situation. No one ever got hurt in R&D. And if they did, it's because they stubbed their toe or did something similarly idiotic."

"Sexy pillow fight injuries?" he asked hopefully.

"…Yes. We unraveled the secrets of the galaxy in between sexy pillow fights. The taxpayers were less than thrilled at the Pillow Tax the Alliance levied, but by God did we ever get research done," Sam snarked back, but the stupidity of the conversation **did** make her feel a little better.

The pilot summarized matter-of-factly: "Sexy research."

She taunted back lightly. "In your dreams, Moreau."

"No better place, Traynor. …and no, it doesn't get easier. Sometimes people come back banged up. And sometimes…" Joker trailed off.

_Sometimes they don't come back._

Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams flashed back into Sam's mind. She really wished she hadn't. Granted, Williams was the Better Case Scenario of the two, but her bloody, tousled head was a memory better left repressed. And swapping the injured LC's face for Shepard's was just…

Samantha stood up from her war room console. She didn't even say goodbye to Joker on the comm. She just logged out, turned on her heel and walked mechanically over to the short flight of stairs leading to the exit. There wasn't so much a specific thought going through the comms specialist's head more so than just a jittery feeling of: _I have to get out of here. _It vaguely resembled bile trying to work its way unceremoniously up her esophagus.

_I really should talk to Dr. Harper about dealing with adversity through vomit. There's got to be a more constructive way to feel helpless and alone. Maybe I could channel this horrible feeling into a renewable energy source. Or turn it into a weapon to smite my enemies._

"Traynor. Traynor! Don't make me shoot you. Stand still. You're messing up the security scan."

Private Bethany Westmoreland's bark brought Sam briefly back to reality. She realized her hands were buried in her armpits and she probably looked wild-eyed and crazed. Pushing a few errant black strands of hair behind her ears, Sam straightened as the grid of white light traced over her body in the security screening area just outside the CIC.

"What's with you, Sam? You went to work this morning happy as I've ever seen you. I think you even complimented my coffee." Private Sarah Campbell tilted her head curiously, her beret slipping down a half inch.

_Has it only been a few hours? __**Was**__ I in a good mood this morning? _

Sam had been. It was true. _Probably a little too good, but surely this isn't retribution for being a little cheerful?_ Especially considering the target of her good mood was now (_badly?)_ wounded. _That's just rude, Karma, if that's the case._

Clearing her throat, Sam realized she'd been silent for far too long and Sarah had repeated her name twice. "Well, your batch of coffee **did** seem to suck slightly less today. But that's all going by the wayside with all the excitement on Tuchanka. Did you hear?"

Bethany sighed. "EDI informed us. We're on high alert to monitor the war room in case…"

"In case what? The turians or krogans stage a coup and take over the Normandy?" Campbell raised an incredulous eyebrow. Her fellow security guard squawked indignantly. "You never know! Maybe they want any advantage they can get in this war! What better time is there than when the commanding officer is out of commission?"

"_Out of commission." Such an odd turn of phrase. So much more polite than "bloodied and maimed." Or "half-dead."_

_I need to go. Now._

Sam mumbled something resembling agreement, darted past the two soldiers and rounded the corner to the elevator. Specialist Xian was in Sam's spot by the galaxy map, swiping over comm channels and talking quietly into his ear piece. Normally, she'd stop and engage him in shop talk. What algorithms he used to tag the Cerberus comms. What a pain in the ass the war room server was to manage. The little nuances only comms specialists understood.

But his worker bee demeanor was compounding Sam's already-bad mood. It irritated her that everyone was going about their business. She didn't have a good reason for feeling this way. Conversely, everyone running around in circles with their hair on fire also wouldn't help. Considering how close Samantha was to the latter possibility, at least mentally, she needed a distraction.

_Well, doing your job __**was **__your distraction. So unless you elbow Xian aside and start doing his, you're probably gonna need a Plan B, Traynor. Suggestions?_

Slinking past the CIC tech specialists to the elevator, Sam's hand paused over the lift keypad.

_Go see Diana? _

…_she'd probably be more interested in updating her Battlespace followers about what happened to Shepard. That's even less helpful, considering that's the Thing I'm trying not to think about. What else?_

_You do owe Liara an update on the Normandy SR-1 black box progress. _

Sam couldn't hit that bright number "3" fast enough. _Liara! She's probably so immersed in her …whatever it is she does… she might not even have heard. Plus her cabin is right across the hall from the Med Bay. I'll know the minute that Shepard—_

The elevator door opened on the stark Memorial Wall, hollowing out Sam's chest even further. She'd never really looked at it. Only noticed it in passing on her way to the bunks or mess. It had been added as part of the retrofits, an odd request from Admiral Anderson. And apparently one Shepard had taken to heart and populated with lost crew. People Sam had never met, so she couldn't really assign particular value to their lives other than names on a wall.

"KAIDAN ALENKO" was the only one she recognized, and only dimly. Almost meaningless to Sam, but so important to Williams, Garrus, Shepard—_Wait._

_Charles Pressly._

_Shit. _

Samantha's brilliant uncovering of a secret message was hardly relevant if one of the men were dead. She reread the wall to see if Chris Postle was also on the list, but he was absent. _It could still be something._

She told herself that a few more times as she turned the corner to the starboard-side hallway. Maybe if she said it enough, it would make it true. So then she wasn't just meekly wasting hers and potentially Liara's time on a goose chase just to further her own denial. Maybe.

_Well, at least you're surprisingly self-aware. Though you still kind of suck at it._

_I try._

Glyph cheerfully allowed Sam entry, but when she called out there was no answer. There were remarkably few places to hide in Liara's cabin and again the bed was untouched. _So unless Liara actually sleeps under the bed rather than in it, she's not here._

"Glyph? I had some data to go over with Liara. Is she around?"

The white holo drone spun its way over to Samantha. "Dr. T'Soni departed the office 3.2 minutes ago for the Shuttle Bay. Estimated time of return is 7.5 minutes. You have been flagged as a special guest and are permitted to remain here to wait, if you wish. Her away message indicates she will return once she has seen to the well-being of Commander Shepard."

_Now why didn't you think of that, Traynor?_

_Because that would be weird. Do comms specialists usually sit by the front door waiting for their CO to come home? _

_Wait, are you a dog or a fretting housewife in this situation?_

_Um…_

_Then… which is Liara?_

_Ummmm…_

"I'll wait, if that's okay." The drone acknowledged the woman with a bounce and floated back over to the corner console. Tilting her head, Sam ventured a question. "Just out of curiosity, what would happen if I **weren't** flagged as a 'special guest?'"

Glyph did not turn around, but stated simply: "I would be authorized to use deadly force to extract unapproved personnel from the premises."

"…Seriously?"

"My programming is quite specific regarding the matter. Would the Comms Specialist like a demonstration?"

Sam squawked a little more loudly than she intended. "No! No, no. That's quite all right. I'll just celebrate my place on the coveted Authorized List and wait here."

Which was easier said than done. Granted, feeling awkward was a vast improvement over being worried. _But that's like saying it's better to be punched in the gut than the head. It's still a terrible feeling._

Plus it felt weird being in Liara's space without Liara present. Walking around and poking at her things was an odd violation, even though there was nothing much to see. The computer equipment everywhere was certainly tantalizing, but something told Sam that firing up one of the consoles would get her demoted to the Kill With Deadly Force category of Glyph's programming. So she had to slowly walk around the room while looking without touching.

She'd never gotten past about the halfway point to the room, usually conversing with the asari information broker at her tower of screens along the right side or near the window console along the left. Beyond this area was yet **another** console which Glyph currently occupied, wedged in the corner right before the divider to the bedroom.

Sam was curious and took a few timid steps past the info drone, and when she wasn't electrocuted (_or whatever else drones use to attack. Foul language?), _she peeked into the bedroom. It was a modest suite. The bed took up most of the space but a low couch was tucked underneath another window and a few end tables were sprinkled throughout. No art work or personal items. Or even clutter.

The only thing in the unremarkable suite Samantha could even see was a small white picture frame sitting on the right end table. But it was empty. It wasn't until Sam started to turn did she see a glint of light in the frame. Venturing closer, the comms specialist leaned over and studied the frame.

It wasn't meant for pictures. It was lightly padded and soft. Set in the middle was a dangling chain, and hanging from that chain were two badly charred pieces of metal. Sam ran her fingers over them, and could barely make out the etching.

It was bold, familiar human writing. On the back of one, a white "N7" was barely visible. On the front of the other:

"SHEPARD  
ANNELISE R  
012.7.31454.1-N2  
SYSTEMS ALLIANCE"

_These are… Shepard's dog tags. _

_No they aren't. I saw her wearing them the first time I met her. In the Shuttle Bay._

_Not those dog tags. Her other ones. The ones before she died. She died in these. _

_And Liara has them._

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Samantha," Liara announced as her cabin door swished open. Her blue eyes searched the room, giving Sam a precious second to back away from the memento and take a few innocent steps toward the asari.

Once the asari spotted the human, she strode briskly forward. "Glyph alerted me to your arrival. Is there news I am unaware of?"

Samantha cleared her throat to give her guilty, fluttering heart a second or two to calm down. "Probably not. You heard about Shepard?"

Sighing, Liara nodded before gesturing toward the couch beside her bed. Sam felt privileged to be offered a spot and sat down earnestly. The comms specialist hunched over and clasped her hands while the asari leaned back with legs crossed. _Always elegant, even in distress._

And she **was** distressed. "I met Dr. Chakwas in the Shuttle Bay to help with transporting Shepard. She needed some assistance with the hover gurney, though I think she was just being kind. I've seen Karin shoulder a full grown human man to administer treatment." At Sam's confused head jerk, Liara continued, "Dr. Chakwas and I are old friends. From the original Normandy. I actually roomed in the medical bay for most of my stay aboard the SR-1. She took excellent care of me after several difficult meldings with Annel—Shepard. While we were hunting Saren."

The informal slip-up was unlike Liara. And some other things she said were buzzing in Sam's brain. Though not in any good or helpful way.

_The dog tags. "Melding" with Shepard. "Annelise." And she roomed in the Med Bay for "most of" her stay on the SR-1. _

_So where did she stay the rest of the time?_

"That was generous of you to help." Sam replied dimly, though it came out more insincere than she'd intended. This wasn't the good idea she'd thought it would be. In fact, it was starting to upset Samantha in a different, Stupid way. She wanted to change the subject desperately, but had to remain polite. "How is the Commander?"

The asari's smile was pure relief, as was the sigh that accompanied it. "She'll live to scare us another day. Though she has certainly had enough practice at it." The next sigh was less relieved but still good-natured.

Sam wanted to ask several things. Most of them wildly inappropriate or worse, things she didn't want the answer to. But there was a quiet whisper. It was a simple observation demanding a simple follow-up.

_Shepard is in the Med Bay. You should go check on her._

"I don't know how you all have managed years of this excitement. I'm used to a quiet laboratory where we fought over who got to use the better server connection or who had to send the latest report to our COs. The closest I ever got to actual combat was…" _Horizon. _But Sam didn't want to say that out loud. She wished she hadn't brought it up.

"Yes? Was what?" Liara leaned forward earnestly. She was being so friendly.

"Oh, um… there was some excitement on my homeworld the last time I was on vacation. Invaders, Alliance intervention, that whole thing. Little ol' me, I was just frozen in place. Couldn't do anything about it," Sam pattered on vaguely. She was surprised Liara didn't know all about it, considering how nosey she'd been earlier.

If the doctor did know, her face revealed nothing. It was still a mask of concern, and she nodded with emphasis. "Sometimes our first foray into an unfamiliar situation isn't as …memorable… as we'd wished." She leaned back again, and started to lift a hand to run over her head fringe. She stopped herself when she saw bright red blood on her white, gloved fingertips and instead focused on that. "I had a similar experience myself the first time I met Shepard. Goddess, it was so embarrassing."

The comms specialist softly asked to hear about it.

"I was an archaeologist studying Prothean Ruins on Therum with a research team. We'd received a generous grant to collect samples for study after a mining company discovered the find. Even though it was more of a public relations exercise than sincere research, we made some wonderful finds."

Her geeky enthusiasm resurfacing, Liara cleared her throat to get back on track. "Anyway, our site was attacked by geth working for Saren. I barely made it to safety behind a Prothean security barrier, but then I got sloppy and became trapped in a stasis field. A foolish mistake. I remained frozen in place for several days, helplessly watching the geth below me try to find a way to reach me."

_That… is remarkably close to how I felt on Horizon._

_Maybe… maybe she can be trusted. To understand._

Smiling lightly in spite of herself, the asari continued. "Then Commander Shepard arrived, guns blazing. I thought I was hallucinating. She was so fiery but so official. She politely introduced herself as part of the Alliance Navy, told me to remain calm, and that she would help me. 'By the book,' I believe the expression goes."

_That sounds familiar._

"When Shepard did finally free me, I was so weak from thirst and lack of food that I needed assistance just to walk. I could barely use my biotics when we encountered the geth on the way out, and the escape from the collapsing mine shaft was none too easy, either." Liara shook her head. "I was frantic and careless. But also extremely lucky. Shepard could have pursued any number of her other leads for Saren, but instead she sought me out first. Not an ideal first impression to make with the first human SpecTRe, wouldn't you agree?"

Sam did agree, and it made her appreciate Liara a little more, considering she's been a part of this whole Reaper mess since the beginning. A familiar story, too. Humble, innocent origins before being thrown into a hurricane. _A hurricane with bullets and ion cannons and monsters._

Samantha chuckled. "At least you didn't shoot her."

"What?!"

Smiling sheepishly, Sam buried her face in her hands. "I know! Absolutely mortifying! It was all Lieutenant Commander Williams' fault. She handed me a pistol and gave me a rousing speech about defending the Normandy. Which I believed. Like an idiot. So when Commander Shepard was coming aboard the ship after being picked up, I didn't know who, or what, she was from the other end of the Shuttle Bay. I pulled the trigger."

"Oh, Samantha." Liara's inflection was equal parts pitying and cringing.

"Oh hush, Dr. T'Soni," Sam snarked back, but kindly. "It was an accident. She deflected it with a barrier like she was swatting a fly, then biotically ripped the pistol from my hands. Truly a remarkable experience. I'm just happy I didn't get fired. On top of, you know, being happy I didn't kill someone. Especially Commander Shepard."

"We're all quite grateful for that," Liara agreed. "And I am grateful you have stopped by to speak with me. I feel much better, all things considered." There was a long pause before she cleared her throat. "Glyph messaged me that you had some data to discuss?"

_Oh! Right! _

…_Right._

"Right, so I was combing through the SR-1 black box correspondence and found a curious message buried in the code of a few internal and outbound emails." Sam fired up her Omni-tool and slid around the U-shaped couch to be closer to the asari, who was now leaning forward earnestly.

["Spero inter lilia."]

Liara repeated the phrase aloud a few times, trying to grasp the unfamiliarity of a non-translated human language. "Does it mean something to humans? My translator does not have a full database of human languages. In Thessian, it would translate to a nonsense phrase along the lines of 'carpets not have quick thought above.'"

"It's almost as nonsensical. In Latin, it means 'hope among lilies,' which sounds profound except it doesn't exist in literature, poetry, or anything else of significance." Gesturing to the wall of screens in the next room, Sam asked, "Know of any person or organization that cares about lilies? …they're a type of flower on Earth. Usually associate with funerals." She had to quickly supplement her question when Liara shot her a confused look.

The asari stood up and sat in her high chair and began typing away. Sam settled in beside Liara, though the comms specialist wasn't sure what she was looking at. Samantha's translation implant was auditory, not optical, so she couldn't read the asari writing currently streaming across the screen. She just hoped the good doctor was having more luck than she did.

"Does the phrase 'lilium inter spinas' mean anything to you?" Liara finally asked. Sam tilted her head. "Yes, actually. I studied the human Christian Bible in college. It means 'lily among thorns.'"

Liara swiveled in her chair and studied Sam for a moment. "I have found your 'hope' phrase paired with the 'thorns' phrase in a fringe organization once part of the Alliance. It was a motto of sorts for a group of Alliance soldiers during the First Contact War, though they have been defunct for almost 40 years."

Sam's heart sank. "So it's useless."

"Not necessarily," Liara interjected thoughtfully. Her eyes flicked back to her screens with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe the group went rogue after the war ended. Maybe they had an agenda or continued after they left the Alliance. I don't know. I will look into it." Her fingers resumed their studious tapping at keys.

It wasn't quite the epiphany Samantha had hoped for, but maybe it was a solid lead. _I'll keep digging, too. Maybe I can find out what happened the day Shepard—oh… _

"I'm glad to be of help," Sam added, though Liara seemed to be completely focused on her work now. The comms specialist started to inch backwards out the door, when the asari leaned forward in her chair. "Oh, Samantha. One more thing. Who sent the message?"

"It was partially erased from one man's message, and sent externally by another. But one of them is dead, so I don't—"

"Their names?" She turned back slightly, her fingers at the ready.

"Officer Chris Postle had the partial. Navigator Charles Pressly sent it outside the ship. Several times."

The blue in Liara's cheeks blanched to a light periwinkle. "…I see. Thank you for your assistance, Samantha. Please let me know if you come across anything else. I will start working on the information you have so kindly provided." She swallowed deeply and returned to her work station.

Sam wanted to ask what she knew. Which name had her so crestfallen. But the dismissal was kind of a relief. It reminded her she had another stop to make.

Glyph chirped a merry goodbye which Sam answered with a small salute as she walked out the swishing doors. Across the hall, the Med Bay was visible. One of the cots was occupied. She started to walk across the mess when an idea struck Sam. It seemed brilliant in its simplicity, plus charming and sweet to boot.

_A win-win._

Digging through one of the lower kitchen cabinets, the comms specialist found a small box already open. She tucked it under her arm and headed for the Med Bay. Inside, the krogan female on one of the other rows of beds appeared to be asleep while her salarian protector was absent. Dr. Chakwas was poised over a reclined Commander's abdomen. Her gloved hands were meticulously applying Medi-gel sutures.

Swallowing deeply, Sam had to force herself to glance down at the edge of the bed just to keep from staring. Shepard was awake. And clad in only a sports bra.

A bandage was tightly wrapped across her forehead while a deep cut on her nose was bare but shining with fresh medication. Her cheek was bruised purple. Bandages were wrapped around her left shoulder while blood lightly seeped through. More gauze could be seen peeking over the blanket around her waist. Again, the peppering of bruises from gunshots on bare flesh. Along with even more scars, puckered flesh, white scratches. And freckles.

So many freckles.

_Did she have them everywhere?_

Sam cleared her throat and met the eyes of the two women who glanced her way.

"Specialist Traynor? Come to check on our stupid, brash Commander?" Karin winked amiably at Sam before resuming her work at Shepard's stomach. The stupid, brash Shepard hissed an inhale at both the insult and the sharp pain.

"Your insubordination is noted, Karin. And after I bought you that bottle of brandy on the Citadel, even. You wound me." The SpecTRe's voice was a little raspy, which alarmed Samantha, but her severe tone was weakened by the glittering mirth in her eyes.

Dr. Chakwas snorted and stood up, snapping off one of her gloves. "You wound yourself, Shepard. I know gunshot trauma well." She thrust a finger at the shoulder bandage. "That injury is the oldest. Probably happened shortly after you landed at the bomb site."

Snapping off the other glove, she gestured at the IV attached to Shepard's wrist. "Which didn't help your constant biotic use. I watched your biometrics. Your hardsuit was warning you even before you went gallivanting off to the other side of Tuchanka. I had to override the built-in moderation of insulin just so you'd stay on your feet. If you weren't bleeding out what the suit was putting in, you would have gone into **hyper**glycemic shock instead."

The doctor was shaking slightly, trying to keep her anger in check. "If you have a death wish, Commander, please let me know now. That way I can save the good medical supplies for the crew members who give a damn about their lives." Nodding at Sam, Karin sighed. "If you'll excuse me, I need some air. And a drink. If you can talk some sense into our leader, I, and my supply of Medi-gel, will thank you."

She stalked out of the Med Bay without another word, leaving Shepard to scowl in her bed. It was terrible, but also a little funny, to see the great Commander Shepard being scolded by a frustrated mother. It wasn't quite what Sam would have preferred Shepard suffer after the scare she'd given the comms specialist. But literally shaking some sense into the injured Commander would probably (_definitely) _get Samantha fired.

Tiptoeing up quietly, Sam tried to be optimistic. "The important thing, ma'am, is that you kicked the shit out of Cerberus. And stopped a war from occurring in the process. And saved a lot of krogan. And did I mention stopped a bloody war? That can't be emphasized enough."

Shepard tried to roll her shoulders but winced with the effort. She settled with cracking her neck with a sigh instead. "We came pretty damn close, though. Fucking Cerberus. I wish I knew how they were somehow everywhere at once. Even The Illusive Man doesn't have unlimited resources, but somehow he's attacking multiple targets all over the galaxy. And I am going to find out how. And why." Another sigh. "If I can ever catch up to him. He's always a step ahead."

_Oh shit. Is she …feeling sorry for herself? Has this (second) brush with mortality made Shepard doubt herself?_

_Oh no. No, no, no. We can't have that at all._

"You stop that right this minute, ma'am. …And, here." Deciding now was the perfect time to unload her ingenious gift, Sam took the box from her armpit and upended it over Shepard's lap. About three dozen wrapped protein bars rained into the injured woman's lap.

She looked up at Sam in confusion. "What the hell is this?"

"Blueberry protein bars. Your favorite. Eat up, you need your ass-kicking strength back," the comms specialist replied knowingly.

A long, awkward pause. "…These aren't my favorite."

For some reason, this made Sam's heart sink deeper. _Shepard almost dying? A little wrenching. Sam's research for Liara almost being useless? Pretty disappointing. Misguessing Shepard's favorite vacuum-sealed snack? Utterly devastating._

She cleared her throat. "…They aren't?" _Damn you, Rashad. I trusted you_. "I heard from a reliable source you're the only one who eats these."

Shepard actually chuckled lightly and picked up a bar to study it closely. "That might be true. But not because they're my favorite."

"May I ask why, then?"

"You may…"

"But you might not answer," Sam finished. She was slightly frustrated, but was too relieved to be talking to Shepard to fly into a rage over something as stupid as protein bar flavors. "Fair enough, ma'am. I was only asking. You don't have to tell me. Secrets are secrets."

"It's not that, Specialist. It's just…" Shepard trailed off. She looked away, then looked back fiercely. "I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me."

The way she said it… _she'd said it a lot._

"'Feel sorry for you?' You're Commander bloody Shepard. I feel sorry for everyone else. Myself included." Sam stupidly hazarded a wink to punctuate her point. It worked.

Shepard wrinkled her nose lightly at the compliment, but she was pleased. She sighed. "These aren't my favorite. I just know that no one else likes them. So I know that there will always be some for me."

"I fail to see how that would evoke pity. It's rather shrewd, actually. Disgustingly shrewd, because those blueberry things are totally abhorrent. But still shrewd nonetheless."

Unwrapping the bar, Shepard broke off a piece in her hand and studied it. She spoke to the bar and not Sam. "You just… you learn to not be picky. I was taught to eat what was put in front of me. A helpful lesson when you grow up poor. Go hungry a few times and you learn pretty quick not to turn your nose up at anything. Everyone's loss is your gain." Popping the piece in her mouth, Shepard chewed it heartily. Her eyes revealed no satisfaction, but yet no disgust either.

It was a topic that piqued Samantha's interest greatly, but a small voice (_not the Stupid one) _told her to leave it alone. She chose instead to get to the bottom of a very important matter: "So what is your favorite, ma'am?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" Shepard asked disinterestedly.

"Of course it matters."

"It's just food. As long as I stay on my feet: that's my favorite."

"Still. There are little joys to take out of enjoying things you like. Even stupid things like protein bars. It can turn your whole day around."

Shepard studied Sam, her focused green eyes flitting over (_through?)_ Sam's brown ones. She reached for the empty box still in Sam's right hand and ran a thumb down the promotional blurb advertising the other exciting Fish Dog Food Factory flavors. She pointed to one and showed it to Sam who nodded with satisfaction.

_Cherry vanilla. A fine choice._

"Now, was that so hard? I swear to God, Commander, everything is so dramatic with you. If you're not careful, Mother is going to ground you," Sam chided lightly, thrusting a thumb at the closed Med Bay door that Dr. Chakwas stormed out of earlier.

Rolling her eyes with an immature scoff, Shepard settled back down into her pillow. She was staring at the ceiling. Sam didn't know where her mind was, but she could guess. "…I heard what Victus did."

"He was a brave man," the Commander agreed solemnly.

"I don't think I could…" Sam paused. She had stopped herself, and not just because it sounded cowardly. _Could I? If everything were on the line and falling on a bomb might help defeat the Reapers?_ "Huh… there I go again. I was **going** to say that I could never do that."

"But?"

Samantha stared intently at Shepard. She just realized how sincere the next words were even before she said them. "But I was wrong. Being here, watching you… You've shown me what it means to serve in the Alliance."

_To be willing to give up everything. All the time. Every minute of every day. And still fight every second with everything you have. Shepard could have returned to the Normandy and gotten patched up. But she risked bleeding out to steal an inch of space on Tuchanka from Cerberus. She could have taken it easy and not used biotics, but she is hardwired to give everything at every moment. Until she can't anymore._

Shepard smiled back with a nod. "You're a good officer, Traynor. Glad you finally realized it."

"Thanks. Not that I'm volunteering for bomb-jump duty. I'd suggest someone who has armor first. If possible," Sam retorted, though she felt heat color her cheeks at the compliment.

"I thought you knew what it meant to serve in the Alliance, Traynor. Now that you're so inspired, not to mention deadly, I think you're ready for frontline duty. We'll get you fitted for that bomb armor ASAP." Shepard was so (_bloody) _sincere in her mockery that it threw Sam off guard for a moment.

Sam's voice was more coy than intended. "You have **terribly** unrealistic standards."

Oh, that exhale-laugh. Sam had almost never heard it again.

_Oh… _

_Oh shit. _

_Shit shit shit._

Sam cleared her throat awkwardly and backed away. Repressing the train of thought that was making it's way around Shepard's full lips down her graceful neck_—stop it!—_made the comms specialist ramble instead. "I'm sorry to have kept you talking when you probably need your rest, Commander. I was just checking to make sure you were all right. You sincerely scared the shit out of me, ma'am."

"Aww, Traynor. You do care."

Shepard was teasing, but she had rendered Sam speechless. It was Samantha who blushed furiously and stubbornly refused to answer. The Commander blinked at Sam curiously, but then her blinks were longer and soon accompanied by a yawn. She mumbled a thank you before her breathing deepened.

Sam desperately wanted to brush the Commander's wispy bangs from her eyes, but she just looked so peaceful. Finally. Only in sleep is Shepard at ease. It made Sam curse what a dud the blueberry protein bars had been, because she did honestly want to do something nice for Shepard.

She suddenly realized the Med Bay was completely empty. As was the Mess Hall. She **did** have something to give Shepard, though it wasn't that nice. Creeping out of the Med Bay, Sam made her way over to the section of lockers. A thumbprint to the keypad unlocked the comms specialist's locker. She scooped up the item and scurried back to the Med Bay, hoping no one had spotted her.

Unfolding the clean, black hoodie, Sam tenderly draped it over Shepard's sleeping form like a blanket. This time, she did run a finger lightly across Shepard's forehead to sweep her bangs away. Only a sigh acknowledged the action.

She straightened up innocently when she heard the Med Bay doors open once more, but it was Dr. Mordin Solus returning to his lab space in the corner. He was humming a familiar tune. _Is that from the "HMS Pinafore?" _

Just as Sam was turning to leave, the salarian doctor suddenly exclaimed a loud "Oh!"

Samantha shushed him and gestured to the sleeping Shepard, who had stirred but not awoken. Mordin uttered a quieter, but still enthusiastic "Oh!"

She respectfully asked Dr. Solus what was going on. His thin lips smiled wildly. He nodded at the sleeping Eve, then back at his console.

"Cure ready."

* * *

**Ren's Note:  
**_I dug around a few wikis looking for any asari language translations. But despite the valiant efforts of the ME community, there just isn't much to go on. Frankly, I was impressed with all they __**did**__ find. So I fabricated the translation of "spero inter lilia" in High Thessian._**  
**

_There is also a plot point used in Midnight Lion's "Pressure" that I always found incredibly interesting: it's pretty much taken for granted that all these different races can understand each other. An "implant" is the blanket explanation. However, unless everyone got implants in their eyes and ears (or just shoved directly in their brains), they probably can't read everyone else's stuff. Maybe there are retinal scans or something on the Citadel to translate stuff for advertising, like in Minority Report. Otherwise, I bet everyone would rather just lock everyone else out of their written language._

_And ugh. The lateness. I am so sorry for the lateness. Especially being so cruel as to dangle a cliffhanger and then be late about it. Work and travel and life and mostly work were just not having any of this Writing thing._


End file.
